When You Can't Beat Them, Become One
by DisgruntledRabbit
Summary: Sometimes there are things you'd rather not do. Like the dishes. Or laundry. Or running a massive network of syndicated crime. Small things. Ivan never intended to take over the mob, and Yao never meant to go near it again. Russia/China, AU.
1. Two Days Prior

**When You Can't Beat Them, Become One**

_Sometimes there are things you'd rather not do. Like the dishes. Or laundry. Or running a massive network of syndicated crime. Small things. Ivan never intended to take over the mob, and Yao never meant to go near it again. Ro/Ch_

**---**

**Author's Note:** Uh, so, hi! *waves shyly* This is my first time writing a fic., and I'm not much of a writer to begin with, so, please don't eat me fore the fail!eage? ;__;

**Warnings: **This fic. is an AU, uses almost entirely human names, and will eventually be Russia/China. Historical accuracy will be abused. Rated for my sense of humour and some rather frank talk about cadavers.

Anyway, I don't own Hetalia, I am not a writer, do & will not claim to be, and have created this fic. for non-profit reasons. No harm intended, mn? X__x;

Please review if you read! It would make me stupidly happy~

**Notes about naming:** Russia/Ivan may be referred to as 'Vanya' (a common pet-name for 'Ivan') by his siblings. I know that Ukraine technically has no name, but I see people calling her Yekaterina a lot, so I went with that. 'Katyusha' is a random diminutive form of Yekaterina, and will be used by her family as her pet-name. I hope that this doesn't confuse anyone!

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Basic colour theory states that the combination of two or more hues will produce a new one. For example, that midnight blue and an iridescent red might create an interesting shade of deep purple.

Ivan had never painted, but he knew this from books. Red and blue make purple! Even if you add white.

When moving liquid suddenly stops, it splatters.

If the fluid is pigmented, then it will leave a mark.

When two objects with opposing forces meet, the weaker one will eventually break.

He hadn't meant to break them.

He had just wanted to help.

_Ivan, Ivan!_

Was that Yekaterina?

_Ivan!_

She was crying? Oh, that's right...

"Sorry, I didn't mean to spill our soup. I can make more for everyone later, da?"

"That--that's not what I--"

"And I'll clean up the mess, too, so, don't worry."

"No, you--oh gods, Vanya, I'm so sorry. I should have..."

"Hmn?"

_-- Two days Prior --_

"Natalia, love, I know you're excited, but could you please try to keep your porridge in its bowl?" Yekaterina let loose a soft, kittenish chuckle at the sight of her younger sister's glee. Somehow, it made their dinner of porridge (and only porridge) seem like a feast. Happiness is such an interesting thing.

"But, the head of my class! The student president! Can you believe it? The school said that I had presence, brother! Presence! And that I was good at getting people to make up their minds!" as usual, the only person Natalia felt the need to listen to was their brother, Ivan.

"Katyusha is right, Natalia--it's not good to waste food," Ivan began, stopping Natalia's excited bouncing in its tracks, "but I'm very proud of you, da! I'm glad that your teachers see what a good leader you'll be! I can't wait to tell everyone at work about what a clever little sister I have." Natalia's face flushed at the compliment, and suddenly her porridge seemed very interesting. Either that or tucking her nose in a bowl was the most convenient way to hide the fact that she was blushing.

"Thank you very much brother! I'll try to do a good job!"

"You will naturally! I know it."

Yekaterina laughed, full and content for the first time in years. Perhaps they finally had something to thank their father for. He'd been missing for the past week and, unkind as it was to think, their lives had been brighter because of it. Things were never so happy when that man was around. He was an awful, violent beast with an addiction to gambling and far too thorough an understanding of the human mind to do anyone any good.

It was beneficial to be aware of the feelings of other people, but not to the point of reading them like novels. Maybe, it would be alright if used to help, but when used to hurt...

"Katyusha? Is everything alright?" Natalia broke her older sister's reverie with a purposeful shake of a porridge-coated spoon. Hadn't Yekaterina told her to stop wasting porridge earlier?

"Ah, I'm sorry! I'm just...happy."

"Katyusha, too? Being happy makes me so sleepy, da~" her brother stood as he spoke, wheeling around his chair lazily to snatch their youngest sibling before making his way back around towards Yekaterina's end of the table, "why don't you two head upstairs for a bath? I want to wash the dishes tonight, da?" it had been phrased as a question (sort-of), but the fact that both girls were left standing outside the door of the kitchen upon its completion left no room for argument. They _would_ bathe, they _would_ relax, and he _would_ take care of business.

Typical Ivan.

Yekaterina adored him.

---

"So, you haven't heard where your father is is and have made no contact with him yourself." the police officer, one Sgt. Germania, didn't look convinced. That was a shame. Ivan understood that the man was only doing his job, but having come home to two scared, _crying_ sisters and one unsympathetic cop, it was easy enough to not care. Natalia and Katyusha had been in such high spirits the night before, too~ Hadn't anyone told the good Sgt. that it wasn't nice to use scare-tactics on children?

"No, sir. And no one in this house is over the age of sixteen, let alone eighteen, so I don't know what you might be implying." Of course, Ivan knew that children murdered their parents all the time (well, not all the time), but without a mother or sibling old enough to take custody, the death of their father would put them at risk for being split up in the foster system. So, despite his being a violent, vile excuse for a person, it was in their family's best interest that their father stay living.

"You're the oldest?" the man blinked, visibly disturbed by Ivan's words.

"No, sir. I'm the middle child. Yekaterina is the oldest--she's sixteen. I'm twelve, and Natalia is eight."

"You're _twelve_." it wasn't a question, but for all the disbelief in official's voice, it might have been. Ivan couldn't really blame the man. He was tall for twelve, and heavily built. It allowed him to hold a job at the docks, for which he was thankful (no one even thought to ask his age), but meant that he ate more and got turned away frequently for children's ticket and meal deals.

"Here's my school I.D." the laminated card was presented to the officer almost immediately, as Ivan had been expecting that evidence would be required.

"Would you mind if I give them a call?"

His school? _Yes?_ Because of work Ivan rarely attended. A call to them would be bad. The man was just prying. He needed to leave. "Sgt. Germania, please feel free do whatever you think will help."

"Of course. Mr.--?"

"Braginski."

"Then, Mr. Braginski, I thank you for your time."

"Likewise."

If the air around them weren't enough to make one shiver, the combination of the youth's soft, innocent voice and piercing, calculating words it spoke would be.

Sgt. Germania trudged across the small, snow-covered yard to his car. Outwardly, he looked annoyed with the weather, but Ivan could tell by the shake of the detective's hands that his message had gotten through:

_None of what you're doing right now is valuable. Please leave and make yourself useless somewhere else._

---

"So, how did it go?" Germania's partner, Sgt. Rome prodded as he set about destroying an innocent muffin. It was obviously freshly-made and smelled delicious, "you want some?"

"No, I would not like a muffin. Where did you get that from, anyway? Weren't you supposed to stay here in the car and wait?"

"They're blueberry muffins." Rome waved one of the baked goods in question beneath Germania's nose--it was, indeed, blueberry. His favourite.

"I will drop the topic for two muffins."

A second muffin appeared from the depths of Roma's paper bakery bag, and the car fell silent. Germania took a bite.

Someday, muffins will be worshipped as deities.

"The questioning...?" Rome prompted, after a moment had been given for his partner to fully appreciate the pastry.

"Don't mention it or I won't be able to eat."

"Oh? I heard that two cute girls live there." The curls of Rome's brown hair bobbed in delight as he spoke. Classic.

"They're both minors, and they also have a brother."

"Is he a minor?"

"Yes! Did you even read the report?"

"You know, in ancient times, some men preferred young boys over either women or men."

"Rome, that's called paedophilia. And people still are guilty of it today."

"Oh...say, did I show you the new picture of my grandsons?"

"Why did you think of that in relation to our conversation about paedophilia?!"

"I didn't! I thought of it in relation to muffins! We went and got some the other day, and--" Germania felt the unease caused by his questioning session with the Braginski's melting away. He'd have to remember to thank his partner later: the flames of Rome-induced fury burnt away emotions like little else.

"The questioning was creepy as shit." there. Confession complete. He'd been scared off by a kid.

"Whoa. Germaia? This is coming from you? I mean, obviously, but...?"

"The girls were your typical abuse case-types, but the brother...I would ask the kid a question to gauge his reaction, and he'd answer with something having to do with my motivation."

"Example?"

"When asked how he and his sisters had been getting along, he said that they were no better or worse off than any other children in their situation might be."

"Uhm, that just sounds awkward. Are you sure you weren't terrorised by the awkward?"

"When first asked if anyone had stopped by, he said that he and his siblings had no connections with or knowledge of his father's contacts, personal life, etc. then proceeded to list off everything he knew before asking me to be more direct with the remainder of the interview."

"And how old is he?"

"Twelve."

"Okay, that's creepy."

"I've spoken to the girls separately, and neither seem exactly distressed about their father's disappearance. More than anything they're uneasy about the fact that they don't seem concerned enough. Though, I think their brother made pretty clear that this was a logical response."

"So, they don't get along with their father?"

"You really haven't read the report, have you." there was no longer any question. If he had, Rome wouldn't be asking something quite so stupid. Furthermore, shouldn't he have known that the son is twelve?

"I dun'no--sometimes people are total jerks to the world in general and nice to their family."

"Not applicable. You should have seen their house. These kids barely have anything to wear, let alone eat." upon hearing this, all signs of cheer were erased from Rome's countenance. If there's one thing he will not abide, it's unkindness towards children."Did you follow up the leads about their father's late wives?"

Rome nodded, and placed the bag of muffins on the dashboard, replacing it with a manila folder that had previously sat to the side of his seat, "Both cases were declared accidents at the time, but are pretty glaringly suspicious."

"Elaborate?"

"His first wife, the mother of the two oldest, Yeh-kat--uhhh..."

"Yekaterina."

"Right. Russian names, tricky to pronounce."

"Of course."

"So, the first wife is the mother of Yekaterina and Ivan and the second wife is the mother of Natalia. The children are sixteen, twelve, and eight, respectively."

"They have different mothers?" That was new.

"Oh? Yes. It's like I said." Rome grabbed another muffin from the pastry bag, former seriousness temporarily forgotten, "both of them were quite beautiful, too."

"That has even more to do with the case than your inability to pronounce names."

"Hmn? What was that?" Rome seemed genuinely confused.

"Nothing. Please continue." Germania took another muffin for compensation.

"Right, so, the first wife was found in a river a week after leaving her husband. The body was in no condition to declare a cause of death."

"Cold case?"

"No, interestingly, it was declared an accident and dismissed." okay... There was something they'd have to remember...

"And the second wife?"

"It's tagged as a traffic collision, but there were no skid marks on the road, and the victim's body was recorded to have sustained fatal injuries prior to the time of the crash. No mention or suspicion of foul play."

"Right. So, basically, any women involved with this man are killed after leaving him and the cases get dismissed."

"Basically." the pair was silent. In their city this all pointed to one thing: their missing person was a high-ranking member of a mafia group.

The case had just gotten about a hundred times more dangerous.

"Shit."

"Yeah, that's what I was thinking."

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*coughs* So, yeah... X____x; We'll be working up to the event that started this chapter (yay for vagueness) in chapter two. Thank you for taking the time to read~ 3

Random apologies to Rome and Germania for abusing the life out of them~ '___';;; I bet they like muffins, right? :D *gets shot*

**Random Ending Notes & Questions:**

**Pairings: **Other than Russia/China, I'm planning on: US/UK, France/Canada, and Prussia/His Awesome (I think I'm joking about that last one...maybe... XD ). Any votes for pairings other than these?

**About 'The Mafia:'** To make things easier on me and avoid any accidental similarities (no, seriously, don't kill me~ ;___; ), all organised criminal groups shall be known as 'the [insert country here] mafia' or 'the [insert country here] mob.' This world has a really, really simple set-up for the politics of crime, da? XD Just dismiss it the same way you do flying wizards, m'kay? :D If I depicted crime syndicates overly realistically, there'd be no room for the rest of the story~ ^___^;;; Consider yourselves warned.

Anyway, if you've read this far, I officially gift you with an award of tolerance. *gifts*

Reviews are appreciated beyond what I can convey, and will make me excited about writing--which will make writing easier (and updates faster)~

Whether this is a curse or blessing, remains to be decided. '__'; Thank you again~

*passes out the remainder of Rome & Germania's blueberry muffins*


	2. Of Bluffs and Boxes

**When You Can't Beat Them, Become One**

_Sometimes there are things you'd rather not do. Like the dishes. Or laundry. Or running a massive network of syndicated crime. Small things. Ivan never intended to take over the mob, and Yao never meant to go near it again. Russia/China_

_---_

**Rating:** I bumped it back to T (thank you for the advice, Lollidictator). If anyone thinks it needs to return to M, just let me know~ *has a stupidly high threshold for what she considers violent etc.* '___';;;

**Author's Note:** Uuah! Thank you everyone for the reviews, favourites and watch-update-things (whatever they're called... shoot me, I've a bad memory for names... '___';;; ). Shout-outs to IceSnowAndGlamour, Lady-ribbon, Mile, Sweet Ticket & Syous99 for their fabulous reviews. Love and muffins for you all~ 3 X3 I appreciate it infinitely~ 3

**Warnings:** Sailors swear like sailors. Ditto for dock workers. I apologise for their dirty mouths beforehand. ^___^;;;;;; Oh, and more talk of death, murder and all the rest.

**Random Notes:** I forgot to mention this in the last chapter, but Ivan's age will change. Expect a time-skip after the mafia-mystery-chaos has been sorted~ X3

Also, I usually see Greece's human name spelled with a 'c' (Heracles), but I'm going with Herakles since it's a better transliteration of the Greek (Ἡρακλῆς).

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The wood-planked floors of the freight ship creaked in relief as Ivan lifted yet another box of cargo into the gated loading trolley. The day hadn't been particularly long, but worry for his sisters nagged at the back of his mind whenever he gave it the chance.

Ivan was good at blocking things out.

"Hey, Braginski, you good over there?" the young Russian turned as much as he could without dropping his load, eyeing the newcomer with a welcoming smile. It wasn't as if there were another Greek person working at the docks, but acknowledging another's entry was always polite.

"Da. The carriage is just about full." the Greek man, Herakles Karpusi, watched in slight awe as Ivan hauled a large, particularly heavy-looking box atop the rest with apparently little effort. The Russian was on the short side for an adult man, but he sure could lift.

"I'll roll it out to the dock then?"

"Thank you, da~"

The corners of Herakles' mouth stretched into a lazy smile as he snapped the metal-mesh wall of the loading box shut. Yes, it was on wheels, but the container could weigh no less than five-hundred pounds. He treated it as if it were an empty shopping trolley.

"It's good that he's so relaxed~" Ivan giggled, half to himself. He yawned, sucking in air in a subconscious attempt to regain his breath. He had to keep up a tough face so that he didn't get fired, but loading boxes was hard! Ivan's eyes darted to the group of men piling boxes into wheeled storage containers as they spoke. How did they have the breath to talk and work at the same time? Ivan was big for twelve, and strong, but he knew better than any that it wasn't the same as being fully-grown. A large puppy was still a puppy, no?

"Seems like. The police ain't gonna find his body, what with it having been burnt an' all, but I say the bastard had it coming."

"Wonder if he had kids..."

"Manipulative, gambling, drunkard shit like that? I sure as Hell hope not. God save 'em if he did."

"That any way to speak of the dead?"

"Not like anyone's gonna hear us." they laughed.

_But I'm sitting right here..._

That description, though... Ivan had to wonder. The manipulative, drunk, and gambler parts, not to mention the terms 'asshole' and 'bastard,' they were curiously familiar. Especially given they all applied to his father. Then again, knowing adults, there were probably plenty of people that fit the description. Couldn't people just be nice?

"What'd he do, anyhow?"

"Seems like the arrogant fuck went behind the back of the Russian faction's boss and tried some sort of deal."

"Money?"

"Ain't that what everything's done for? I don't know the exact details, but he had a hell of a lot of debt and some loan-sharks were after him. Way I see it, the guy was kind of dead one way or the next."

"That's what you get, though."

"Hey, I never said anything against it. 'Fact, was saying the same thing at the start." the speaker held his hands up defensively, obviously having no desire to appear to side with the enemy.

Russian? Ivan's family is Russian--from Russia, too. But what was all this about factions? And loan sharks? Was it some sort of criminal group? A Russian crime syndicate...if so...

---

Ivan coughed, catching the attention of his gossiping co-workers, "The overseer is due to drop in soon, da~ Are you sure you shouldn't save talking about mafia for lunch?" he held his gaze steady, purple eyes staring wonderingly past silvery blond bangs.

The men gulped. Something had always unnerved them about that Ivan guy. A strange air, you could say. They were involved with the Russian mafia themselves, but only peripherally. Bypassing illegal shipments was easy enough when you were unloading them. Just stack the things in the same box and roll it off to the side. Job done. Rough as they acted, rumours were about as close as they got to the organisation's inner-workings. The real members didn't swear or break out into fights. Among all of the groups in the city, the Russians were the ones best known for their secrecy. If they wanted you dead, you'd die, but it'd happen in the middle of the night where no one would detect a thing. They had eyes and ears everywhere, and, judging by his comment and eerie calm, this Ivan guy just might be one of them.

"Uh, sorry 'bout that. We didn't mean to talk about it in front of someone... just figured you knew already. 'Real sorry about that." yeah, let him think you knew he's special.

The blond giggled, tilting his head to the side playfully, "Ne-za-chto, comrades~" he cooed, purposefully mixing tongues.

Comrades? If any doubt remained in the men's minds about their co-workers affiliation with the Russian mafia, that single word had dusted all suspicions away. It was like a cat, swiping its fluffy paw at already downed prey...this guy was not only involved, he was in deep.

"If you don't mind, though, could you repeat to me what you've heard? I'm not sure it's all quite true, and we like to avoid falsehoods getting out about our own, da?"

Their heads shot up in unison. Had that been a threat? The Russians made good one those, no second chances allowed...

"Of course. Right away--" a neatly raised hand silenced the speaker's words.

"At lunch, please. It's like I said earlier," Ivan smirked at the door, expression sliding from one of knowing to his usually clueless smile, "welcome back, Antonio~ You brought another cart, da?"

The men gawked, mentally replaying the change. One by one, eyes flitted to the clock, careful to not be seen by their small blond co-worker. Lunch was an hour away.

This was going to be the longest sixty-minutes of any of their lives.

---

Ivan hummed to himself as he headed home, feet kicking playfully at the snow in a near-skip. It was dark by now, and well below the freezing point, but he had successfully fooled his co-workers into thinking he were working for the Russian Mafia. Their wide eyes, the frightened expressions on their faces--the boy giggled--it had been wonderful!

_'I'll be blunt: speak of this and your friends will have a body to find, da? There are secrets that we keep even from our own. It wouldn't be good for others to know their actions are being seen, you agree?'_

Adults could be so funny when they thought that they had been caught.

The information Ivan had learnt was much as he had expected from what he'd overheard of their talk: his father had been a high-ranking member of the Russian mafia, before his gambling and drinking habits had gotten the best of him. His position was maintained, but the quality of his work had been steadily decreasing. He'd made some bad deals, lost a lot of cash, and was in trouble with his boss. This led to the borrowing of money. It was more than he needed to cover his mistakes, so he used the rest, and then some, on himself. He didn't make enough money to pay his debts back. The loan-sharks were getting testy, and he was falling out of favour with his boss. Ivan's father had, stupidly, decided to sell his own group out to a rival organisation.

But someone had found out.

A little over a week ago, he had been called out to a meeting, only to be shot dead. The body was cremated on the scene.

It didn't bother Ivan that his father was deceased, but this did leave him with the problem of trying to avoid having himself and his sisters split up in the foster system. Such a thing would not be tolerated. They were family. Staying together was what they did.

He stopped, looking up at the lights of his house. It was small, especially for four people, but could be homey during the right moments. The first floor held a kitchen, complete with an old-fashioned wood-burning stove, small table and sink (which shared its space with a compact work-surface), a hall, and two sets of stairs. The kitchen was windowless, and so didn't get a lot of light, but it was still Ivan's favourite space.

The staircase closest to the kitchen led to the basement, and the one farthest away to the house's second level.

A person could enter through the front door, which led into the hall between the kitchen and the basement stairs, or a mudroom, which would land one in the kitchen.

"Thank you very much for your time, ladies." Ivan jumped, ducking into a nearby shadow as the door to his home opened. Warm light danced across the snow-covered lawn as two large figures emerged. Their features were hidden by the shadows of identical hats, but Ivan could guess by the uniform who they might be.

"Please enjoy your meal~ And don't open the door for strangers, alright?"

"Yes, thank you officers. Please take care on your way home." it was Katyusha. Her voice sounded nervous as always, but deeply grateful.

"Haha~ don't worry about us, we're fine. Just stay low until we get this all figured out." Ivan couldn't quite pin the accent. It sounded Italian, but there was something about it... perhaps the speaker came from a place with a unique dialect?

"Mn. And, uhm, really, thank you so much again...I, uh, are you sure...?"

"Oh, no, please! Take the food. My grandsons and I always make extra. It's the least my partner and I can offer for barging in on your mealtime like this." Katyusha laughed, then repeated her thanks before waving the officers goodnight.

The door clicked shut. At once, a change overcame the Italian. He lifted his hat, running his fingers through his hair as he sighed. Shoulders dropped, smile gone--it was as if he'd gone from a birthday to a funeral.

"Germania, have I ever mentioned how much I hate working with you?"

"What did I do this time? I thought I was on perfectly good manners," the blond looked at his brunette counterpart, his long, perfect hair swishing about in the wind.

"You were. It's just that you don't have a heart. You'd said the girls were 'typical abuse case-types,' and that they could 'barely eat.' I don't recall anything about one of them jumping at her own shadow and the other being clinically insane." Ivan frowned. That was no way to speak about his sisters. He would have to remember this offence in the event that he and the unnamed Italian ever spoke.

"That _is_ typical. It's not unusual for people in abusive situations to develop psychiatric conditions."

"Aaah! Look! There you go! Talking about people like they're statistics! Those are _little girls_ in there! Don't you have a grandson?"

"Gilbert... isn't the best example." even from his vantage point, Ivan could see the grimace on Germania's face.

"But he's still a child! And children should live happy, carefree lives! They should have little cone hats, piñatas, and cake on their birthdays--dressed up in cute little frilly costumes on Halloween! They should be cuddled and cooed over, and they--uh, Germania, are you feeling alright? You look kind of ill."

"No, I just imagined my grandson living like that...it was vaguely traumatic." the blond appeated to be in an honest-to-goodness state of shock. It was all Ivan could do to not giggle. Were the mental images really that disturbing? If so, he's have to meet this Gilbert person--he must be entertaining.

"Spoil sport...I'm sure your grandkid's not that bad..."

The blond coughed, "We'd best get back to the station. I want to get these testimonies typed up and filed some time before the sun rises."

"Yeah, sure," the two moved towards their car, feet making crunching noises in the snow, "Hey, Germania, you sure we should leave those kids without surveillance? The way things sounded, I'm afraid those people won't be satisfied with just the father."

"It would be ideal, but unlikely. There's enough pressure to close the case as is."

"Ttch," Rome shot one last look at the house before roughly jerking open the car door, "I don't like it. They're such sweet kids..."

"Lots of kids are sweet," Germania follow suit, the rest of his words lost as he ducked into the driver's seat.

Ivan watched the police vehicle roll away. The blond Sgt. may be objectionable as a person, but his driving was flawless. Especially impressive given all of the ice.

What was all that about wanting surveillance, though? Had Ivan misheard? Their father was the one in trouble, yes?

The wind blew, dusting flakes of snow into the boy's eyes. It was well below freezing, but he didn't really mind. Ivan hated the cold, but it had somehow always been easy for him to tolerate. The idea that he was suited for it was displeasing, but had always seemed to be the case. Maybe it was something about being from Russia? It had been ridiculously frigid back home...

"Brother, is that you?" Natalia. She always knew when he was about. Her small face peeked from behind the partly opened front door, obviously trying to keep the warm air in.

"Ah! Natalia! You came out just in time! Here I was wondering how I would get my gloves off to ring the doorbell~" Ivan started into a jog, hopping merrily onto the stairs, "now, head in before you let in the cold, da?"

"Yes brother."

As Ivan followed his youngest sibling into the warmth of their kitchen, listening to her chatter about the day, something clicked in the back of his mind:

_'The way things sounded, I'm afraid those people won't be satisfied with just the father.'_

Ivan had an idea as to what Rome had been suggesting, though he hoped to the heavens that he wasn't right.

---

**End Note:** And here ends the train-wreck that is chapter two~ X___x;

Guess where I've been for the past two days? :D Helping out a friend at a warehouse! :D How ironic is that? XD It's pretty-much the same thing as Ivan does, only with trains instead of boats. It's hard! X___x; I was remarkably bad at working the lift, so I ended up spending the entire time doing what Ivan does here. *points up* Yay for accidental research, huh? XD

Oh, and in case it wasn't clear, he actually was having trouble moving some of the boxes, but acted like he wasn't since they kind of yell at you if you are ('Nuu! Shaddap! I'm not having any problems! I'm just short~' T___T;;;;; ). Haha~

Also, I'd like to apologise about the random exposition blitz. I might go back and write the lunch scene later, but as is, the thing was playing too much like the one before it. *gurgles*

And, uhm, I know that I said that we'd get to the scene that started chapter one in this chapter, but... X____x; It looks like the thing'll be appearing sometime near the start of chapter three. Sorry about that~ -____-;;

Before anyone asks, Germania hasn't convenientley forgotten about HRE. I'm just going with the whole HRE is mini!Germany-thing, and decided to bring him in later. Meaning that Germania and HRE have sort-of not met (kind of).

Thank you again for reading, and all the best! I hope that it doesn't confuse/disappoint~ 3 Reviews encourage faster updates (when I'm not at warehouses... ^__^;;;; *gets shot* ) and make me insanely happy~ So... uhm, please? Even one or two words can make an author's day.

**Russian:** Ne-za-chto - Don't mention it.


	3. White Noise

**When You Can't Beat Them, Become One**

_Sometimes there are things you'd rather not do. Like the dishes. Or laundry. Or running a massive network of syndicated crime. Small things. Ivan never intended to take over the mob, and Yao never meant to go near it again. Russia/China_

_---_

**Author's Note:** Warrgh! ~___~; I give up on figuring the rating out. =__=; My textbooks are more graphic than this. *fails at identifying 'graphic' violence* The rating is being left at 'T,' but if anyone feels I need to move it up, let me know.

On another note, we finally find out what the heck was happening at the start of chapter one! :D *laughs* Thank you again to everyone that reviewed! ;___; Love, baked goods and tea for you all~ 3

Also, _massive_ friggin' shout-out to Nevermore, who saved my forgetful arse by pointing out that I hadn't explained where the blue came from in Ivan's little colour-equation (it's the moon). Thank you~ 3

**Warnings:** Well, there is that whole killing-thing, so, yeah...violence. Much, much violence. And, uh, Ivan finally snapping. I think. If he hadn't snapped before. *blinks*

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Ivan stepped into his kitchen and froze. Somewhere in the back of his mind he was aware of Natalia's babbling, but, for now, her words would have to wait.

They had food.

Real food, and lots of it. He remembered Katyusha having thanked the rude Italian detective for bringing them something to eat, but he hadn't expected anything like this: seven large plastic boxes of pasta (was it homemade...?), four bags; three large and one small, containing fresh tomatoes, potatoes, aubergine and onions (respectively), as well as a jar of what looked to be tomato sauce.

"He--I--s-sisters, what's all of this?" Ivan cursed himself for the slip-up; according to what he told Natalia, he hadn't been outside during the officers' visit. The existence of the food should be a total surprise!

"Haven't you been listening?" Natalia pouted, hands resting on her hips in what she thought to be a very intimidating manner.

_Cute._

"Da, Natalia, I'm sorry, but--" the boy turned to the massive amount of food helplessly, making vague motions. His sisters giggled, knowing the feeling.

"There's so much?" Katyusha cut in, saving Ivan from having to phrase the feeling himself, "that's not all of it, either. There are a few more bags of root vegetables that Natalia put down to the basement."

"Da! Da, there is a lot! And there is even more in the cellar? Where did it come from?" assuming it didn't go bad, this could last them for weeks! Perhaps they could dry or can some of it? They didn't have a freezer, so that wouldn't work...

"Sgt. Rome brought it when he and his partner came to talk," Katyusha joyfully removed a nearly-forgotten cutting board from the cupboard as she spoke, soon turning to busy herself with finding a knife, "I'm going to make stew tonight. Would you two like that?"

Neither Ivan nor Natalia replied, but the looks on their faces said enough. It had been so long since they'd had something fresh to eat. A newly-cooked soup would be...

"It's a feast, it's a feast~" Ivan felt small hands slip into his larger ones as Natalia raced about, dragging him into some sort of strange dance. He honestly didn't know what to make of it, so decided to go with his default response and smiled. Katyusha must have felt the same as she just looked at the pair and laughed.

"Natalia, be careful to not trample anything, please?" ah, she always did worry.

"Of course! I'm not a child! Right brother?" Ivan glanced to his older sister for help, but her back was turned to him as she stood washing a potato at the sink. The faucet was one intended for use outdoors, and went well above Katyusha's head, but served its purpose. It was quite the funny picture, though. Compared to it, she was so small! He could remember buying the faucet on sale and wondering how his sisters would manage with it. Everything worked out, though, as he found that the knob by the faucet's opening way up top was meant to control the maximum pressure of the water, not turn the water on.

"Brother...?" bad. His response had obviously taken too long.

"Uh, da, but, Natalia, isn't it good to be young?" seeing the crestfallen look on his youngest sister's face, Ivan decided to rephrase, "I always hear women complaining about feeling old, so, being as young as Natalia must be a good thing!" it was a ridiculous explanation at best, but the girl seemed pleased with it.

"Hear that, sister? I'm very young!" oh, Natalia. She was such a stubborn girl, and so full of pride. Sometimes to the point of dismantling her sense of logic. Traitorous as it was to think, Ivan could see how an outsider might mistake her behaviour for mental instability. She was perfectly sane. Just a bit fierce.

"That's good! It's just like brother said." Ivan smiled at his older sister by way of thanks for playing along. He was pleased that his siblings were so lively, but there were still things he had to ask.

"Do either of you know why the detectives brought the food?" Pity? But then, why so much?

"Ah...that..." then something was the matter? Katyusha stopped her vegetable scrubbing to stare nervously at the kitchen door. It sat past a small 'L'-shaped mudroom, just to the side of the breakfast nook, and almost directly in front of the work surface and sink. You couldn't see the back door from inside of the kitchen because of the mud-room's shape, but since it was the entryway used most frequently by their family, her meaning was clear "the officers said that it would be best for us to say inside for a while. Something about our father's situation..." alarm bells sounded loudly in Ivan's mind: their father's situation? Stay inside?

_'The way things sounded, I'm afraid those people won't be satisfied with just the father.'_

No.

He shook his head rapidly, shaking off ill thoughts much in the same way as a dog shakes off water. The confused looks given to him by his sisters went mostly unnoticed as his gaze drifted to the area beside the entry. There was a small bend in the wall, almost an alcove but not quite, to the side of the doorway, next to the sink. Natalia often stood there, and jumped on Ivan as he came home from work. It was positioned in such a way that even if one were to enter the kitchen, it would take them a moment to notice they weren't alone. If Natalia could do it, certainly some type of hit-man could do the same? They were inside now, but what about the next time they left? Where else could someone hide?

"Don't worry, brother," Katyusha pulled Ivan into a hug, attempting to be comforting, but suffocating him instead. He would never understood what anyone saw in breasts. How could something designed to stop people from breathing be appealing? At least the struggle for oxygen had brought him back to the present, "I'm sure the officers are only taking precautions after hearing Natalia's words."

"I was speaking the truth! I did see those men! They've been outside the doors and windows for days. Even when I'm around town, they--" ah. So that was why the Italian officer (Sgt. Rome, was it?) mistook Natalia for being insane.

"Natalia, is this true? Why didn't you say something sooner?"

"It is, brother! I kept silent because I didn't want to be laughed at, but it's true."

"Please, Ivan, don't encourage her. She was saying that men have been following us. Wouldn't we have seen?"

"Hmn...perhaps, but Natalia always has been very observant," he fondly patted the girl on her bow-adorned head as she looked away, unsuccessfully trying to hide a blush, "and caution couldn't hurt."

"Ivan!"

"Just like you said about the officers, da? Katyusha is a careful person, is she not?"

"I...I am, but I don't think that it's good to enforce such thoughts. People watching us? What about out family would be important enough to attract such attention?"

Ivan hummed as if in thought, trying to avoid giggling at the sheer number of things that popped to mind, "Who knows? But if the police think enough of it to be careful, then so do I. Besides, Natalia is family, and she says that she didn't lie. Shouldn't we believe her?"

Katyusha was a very good girl. A very good girl from a family that raised women to obey men. Ivan may have been twelve, but he was still male, and so his word was law, "Yes brother..."

Somehow, Natalia's smug expression and the way that she clung to the boy's sleeve didn't help Yekaterina agree.

"Thank you, da. We both appreciate it." Ivan's genuine smile cancelled out their youngest sibling's smugness and then some.

---

"Brother?"

"Da?" Ivan looked up from his bowl of soup to see Natalia's bow. Her face was hovering somewhere above her soup. She was probably blushing.

"I was wondering...what does brother want to be when he grows up?"

"Hmn?" Where had that come from? Hadn't he always encouraged her to think about what _she_ wanted to be?

"We were talking about it in school today. What everyone wanted for a job. And I already asked Yekaterina," Ivan winced at the use of his older sister's given name; Natalia must really be mad about not being believed, "She said that she wanted to do something with agriculture and animal husbandry. But, what about brother?"

"Agriculture and animal husbandry?" it was now his older sister's turn to blush as Ivan turned to her with a smile, sincere and full of pride, "that's amazing Katyusha! You'd be wonderful at farming, da. You've always been so good with animals and plants, and are so fond of the outdoors. I think it's perfect~!" Katyusha spluttered, trying to brush off the praise much as Ivan had Natalia's question.

She'd noticed: "Brother, you haven't answered for yourself. What does brother want to be?" Ivan flinched; she was little, but sometimes Natalia could be really frightening.

What he wanted to do? It wasn't a hard decision--he knew exactly. But it was so ridiculous! It was a job that you needed a lot of money and training in order to acquire. He read as many books on the subject as he could find, but always with the full knowledge that what he learnt would never come of use.

"Eee... it's silly and too embarrassing to say."

"Say it!" he should have known better than to try to fight against Natalia's curiosity. She was far too stubborn.

"...a doctor, da." there. It had been said. Ivan wanted to be a doctor. He didn't know which type, since he found all medicine fascinating, but something in the medical field, for sure. Psychology had always disgusted him, reminding the boy too much of the arrogance of his father, but things having to do with physical health were different. What made a person? How did they move? Speak? Which organic processes made them able to think? When something broke, could it be repaired or replaced, or would it have to go entirely? What was sickness? Could it be cured? And if so, how?

"I think that you would make a very good doctor, Ivan." the boy looked to his older sister, not having noticed how long the silence stretched after his statement. She didn't say why, probably because there were no signs that he would be, but the words themselves held a certain comfort. It was an impossible dream, and all three knew it, but what was wrong with dreams?

Natalia jumped, eyes wide, and stared at the wall shared with the mud-room.

"Is something the matter, da?"

"I heard a sound." the fear in the girl's voice was apparent enough that her siblings both stopped to listen. They hadn't heard anything the first time, but then, Natalia always had been the vigilant one.

Another bout of noise: A rasp, followed by a few hushed words. It was brief, and may well have been the wind, but Ivan had never been the type to take chances.

"Yekaterina, why don't you and Natalia go down to the basement? You'll be good and go with her, won't you Natalia?" the use of Yekaterina's given name and the sudden lightness of the boy's tone alerted her that Ivan wouldn't tolerate questions or a moment's hesitation, "remember to fasten the bolt, and not sit somewhere too obvious, da?"

A mumbled 'yes brother' from Natalia was the only thing spoken as both girls quietly sped towards the basement, doing as their brother said. There was only one entrance, and Natalia had been to the basement earlier. She would have noticed the presence of another person, even if he or she had been hiding. It would be safe.

Ivan could have just gone to check the kitchen door without asking his sisters to head to the cellar, but it was much better to have a false alarm than to bump into someone scary and risk either girl getting hurt. True, it was easy enough to imagine himself being injured or even dying, but that was a thought best ignored. Right now he needed to focus.

A small click came from the direction of the kitchen door, followed by a voice. Police? No, it didn't belong to either detective. Besides, officials would knock.

The mud-room's floor creaked, betraying the presence of one person, probably more. Ivan knew that he wouldn't send only one person to finish this sort of job. He would want more than one person with more than one weapon.

Which reminded him: he didn't have any.

Another creak marked another step. He was out of time. The boy's mind reeled as his hands moved of their own volition to Katyusha's pot of soup. It was a big pot, and still boiling. If nothing else, it would impair his foe's ability to fight.

Distantly, the young Russian became away of the sound of screaming. He stood, empty-handed, tucked into the nook between the kitchen sink and the mud-room door. When had he moved? And why was everything going so slowly? Or was it fast?

Someone was stepping over a fallen figure. Was that the one he'd doused in soup? The pot looked to be on the person's head, and there was no sign of motion. Ivan couldn't see new his opponent's face, but he did see the knife. He remembered his father saying that a knife was only a slab of metal until it hit. But it would hit, wouldn't it? He had nothing to block with--hands wouldn't work, neither would plastic, or wood. He needed...

The faucet. It was long, made of thick, industrial-quality metal, and was poorly attached to the remainder of the sink.

One hand flew to the base, and the other to the top. It was surprising how simple the fixture had been to detach, though, the noise had not gone without notice.

Light glinted, catching the corner of Ivan's eye and he spun, forcefully swinging the metal pipe towards the glimmer. He was certain it wouldn't be enough, that it would miss or knock his attacker only slightly, but when his makeshift weapon connected, there was only a crunch. A dull, thudding, sickening stop. No echo, no struggle--nothing. Did this mean he had kept his family safe? Helped? Maybe his sisters would be alright.

More voices rang from near the door, shouts, seemingly angry. Or was it alarmed? Someone ducked into the kitchen, a black shining object in hand. A gun? There had been no sound, but the pain spreading along the side of Ivan's shoulder agreed. This was bad. These people were bad.

_Useless. Bad. Have to help_.

He moved forward, vaguely aware of an additional shot being fired. His pipe came down with another thump, followed by the sound of something splitting. It was becoming colder, and his feet were sinking slightly into the ground as he moved. A grey-blue light blanketed the surrounding world (was it the moon?), while images flicked by, grainy and stained like an old silent film. He'd never known why they were called 'silent:' you could always hear something.

In the background, the noises continued as all else seemed to fade.

_But those people were bad. Bad children are punished. That's what I was told, da?_

---

Basic colour theory states that the combination of two or more hues will produce a new one. For example, that midnight blue and an iridescent red might create an interesting shade of deep purple.

Ivan had never painted, but he knew this from books. Red and blue make purple! Even if you add white.

When moving liquid suddenly stops, it splatters.

If the fluid is pigmented, then it will leave a mark.

When two objects with opposing forces meet, the weaker one will eventually break.

He hadn't meant to break them.

He had just wanted to help.

_Ivan, Ivan!_

Was that Yekaterina?

_Ivan!_

She was crying? Oh, that's right...

"Sorry, I didn't mean to spill our soup. I can make more for everyone later, da?"

"That--that's not what I--"

"And I'll clean up the mess, too, so, don't worry."

"No, you--oh gods, Vanya, I'm so sorry. I should have..."

"Hmn?"

-----

-----

**Ending Note:** Here ends chapter three. Yes, it ended with exactly the same text as chapter one started with. Sorry if things got a bit confusing right before the repeated segment--our narrator kind of lost his mind. ^__^;;; *pets Ivan* Poor thing. Don't worry, you have the best consolation prize ever: Yao!

In other, less dark news, I feel like Rome would bring a s**tload of food to hungry kids during a case. He seems like he'd be the master of getting overly involved~ ^__^; *laughs*

Reviews make me beyond happy and encourage more writing and faster updates (buaha! Shall inflict bad writing upon you all! XD ). So, uhm, please review? You can cuddle the Sgt.s if you do! :D *offers up a thrilled Rome and a displeased Germania*

Until next time~ 3


	4. Until We Meet Again

**When You Can't Beat Them, Become One**

_Sometimes there are things you'd rather not do. Like the dishes. Or laundry. Or running a massive network of syndicated crime. Small things. Ivan never intended to take over the mob, and Yao never meant to go near it again. Russia/China_

_---_

**Author's Note:** This chapter just needs to go away. It was born as extra!fail (moreso than usual, that is) and will die as exra!fail. =___=; It also just needs to be posted so that we can move past the fact that it exists and onto the rest of the fic. So, apologies in advance. =___=;;;;;;;;

Also, there's some random back-story on Germania and Rome here. I'm strongly debating making them a not-so-hint-e official couple (if there are objections, just comment~), so I figured they needed it. *laughs*

**Warnings:** Blood, more fighting, Ivan being ebvil (a cute form of evil). Poor Natalia loses it. ^__^; *pets her* Mild swearing. Debatably joking mentions of bondage (read: police handcuffs), Germania/Rome (more obvious than usual). There's also a random OC, but he's a middle-aged male Russian mafia member. Not much Mary-sue potential there. *laughs* Oh, and Hetalia isn't mine. XD

-----

-----

_A grey-blue light blanketed the surrounding world (was it the moon?), while images flicked by, grainy and stained like an old silent film. He'd never known why they were called 'silent:' you could always hear something._

_In the background, the noises continued as all else seemed to fade._

_-_

_Hmn?_

_Katyusha?_

_Natalia?_

_Something about metal._

_The sink?_

_No..._

That was right: he'd killed.

---

"Sir, with all due respect--"

"Sgt. Rome, you know I you and your partner both in the highest regard, and would love to help if I could, but in this situation my hands are tied."

"Tied my ass! You're the chief of our city's police! If you want to do something, do it!" the usually upbeat Italian slammed his palms to his boss's desk, causing the rest of the room to shake in the process. Rome was a man who rarely got angry, but heaven help those around him when he did.

"I'm sorry, but--"

"But what?! The phones are ringing off the hooks with reports of gunshots and screams coming from a house occupied by--"

"Rome." the voice was familiar, but its tone uncharacteristically pleading.

"You, shut up," the brunette officer spun, roughly poking his partner for emphasis, "I'm not in the mood for your obedience crap right now." Germania winced, and took a step back. It had only been one finger, but damn did it hurt.

Times like these were why Rome and Germania to be assigned as partners. So, technically, Germania was supposed to be trying to stop the other man from murdering their boss, but given the situation, he couldn't be bothered to disagree.

Rome had been an excellent officer, young and passionate with record-breaking arrest rates. Once he set his sights on a task, it would be conquered. Targets would be overtaken. The only problem was that this also seemed to include the administration: Rome didn't stand for corruption, and no one could stand against Rome.

He was fired--several times, actually, and were it not for the sharp rise in crime following his removal from the force, the man would probably still be out of a job. Uncontrollable as he may be, the Italian was a necessary force for city's continued functioning.

Then in came Germania, fresh out of the military and thoroughly conditioned to accept orders. The two had been made a tentative match in hopes that some of Germania's obedience would rub off on their loose-cannon ace. No one had been expecting much; Rome's partners never stayed long, but a small chance was better than none.

A week after his new partner's arrival, Rome caught an officer taking money in exchange for dismissing a reported case of domestic violence. That went over just about as well with Rome as the brunette's outburst did with Germania. When the confrontation ended with Rome knocked out cold and handcuffed to the bars of a holding cell, the match was been solidified. For good.

It took a few years, many broken bones as well as a ridiculous number of cut, scrapes and bruises, but the two eventually settled into a steady, reliable unit: Germania kept Rome in line, and Rome kept Germania from acting like a robot. It worked out well. Most of the time.

"Those kids could be dead--probably are dead, and you're---"

Germania's attention darted from his partner's potentially lethal tirade to the faint buzzing in his pocket. A beep notified him of an incoming call. The blond retrieved his phone before stepping from the room without a word.

Any hopes the police chief had of escaping harm followed the German Sgt. out the door.

_-- Forty-five minutes earlier --_

Her brother giggled, his breath ragged and arm dragging, gently tracing lines in the frozen earth. The beige coat he'd received last winter had been torn was now soaked in a mixture of blood and snow. Just how much of that blood was his own?

"Katyusha? Why are you apologising?" Ivan voice held the same sing-song tones as usual, but the light in his usually watchful gaze had been replaced by a dulled screen. It was plain to see that no one was home. Not that this came as a surprise. He'd broken five people like porcelain dolls. He didn't even shoot or poison them--the bodies were just _smashed_. Yekaterina had never even heard of something so brutal.

_Oh, please, God, forgive him. Forgive me. Ivan is only a little boy. I should have done more...he was just trying to help. I--_

"Kat-yu-sha?" the silver-blond sang, tapping her on the shoulder gently to catch the girl's eye, "what is it?" she wanted to scream.

"Why don't we go inside and have you sit down, Ivan. I'm sure you'll feel better in a bit." in any other condition, he would have noticed the shaking in her voice. The fact that he didn't was further cause for concern.

This was all wrong.

"Net," Ivan's eyes hardened, suddenly snapping back to awareness, "I'll be fine, but these people might not stop, da? We need to get you and Natalia somewhere safe."

"B-brother?" it was Natalia. She stood barefoot in the snow, wide-eyed and smiling, tears sneaking down her face, "what happened, brother?"

"Hello Natalia," Ivan smiled, "we were just about to go and get you." the girl tiled her head, but otherwise didn't respond, "You and Katyusha are going to have to leave."

Small feet lifted, their pace quickening as Natalia fled the sight of what she could only describe as a nightmare.

_What has brother done? Brother would never do this! But, he did. I see it before me. So, does that mean that brother is not himself...? Did he go away?_

_No. No, brother is himself. He is himself and he will stay. He is here! Together with me. We'll always be together. Always, always..._

"Brother will come with us?" Natalia's arms sunk into Ivan's sides as she nuzzled into his stomach, "We can be one, then. Together?"

She really was so terrifying, "N-net. Not right now, Natalia. Maybe later. There are a few things I have to take care of first."

"No. Brother will come." Eee! When did this person grow nails sharp enough to be felt through a thick coat?!

"But...uh...Natalia, it's just like when I do the dishes while you and Katyusha head upstairs for a bath~" the young Russian giggled, "I'll come and join you once I'm done with some chores. You two will just go ahead."

Her grip tightened, "But after that, you'll come and be with me?"

"Uh, I'll come and be with you both, da?"

"Forever?"

Humans didn't live that long, but, "Da..."

"Brother and I will be one forever?"

Ivan winced, "N-not exactly...?" Yekatarina shot him a pleading look: Natalia was just very, very. very scared and looking for comfort...probably, "I mean, that's because, Katyusha will be there, too!"

"Together forever, together, together~"

"Uhm...da..." as much as Ivan loved his little sister, being around her for much longer, let alone the rest of time, was quickly becoming a terrifying notion, "Bu-but, before that, you need to be a good girl and do as I say, da?"

"Yes, brother. Anything if it's for brother~" Natalia stared up adoringly from where she kept an anaconda-like grasp on his waist. Blood from his coat had smeared across her face and the look in her eyes was positively the most horrifying thing Ivan had ever seen.

"I-is there any...uhm..." was there even a place his sisters could go to be safe? Anyone they went to would become involved, and it was no use involving someone who couldn't fight back. To rely upon a good hiding place alone was foolish, but...

The detectives. The Italian one, rude as he was, appeared furious at the mere thought of someone hurting children, and his partner clearly knew his way around the human mind. Doubtless, either man would be hell to fight. Ivan didn't like them (especially the fair-haired one...), but there was something about both men that inspired trust.

"Did the officers you spoke to while I was out leave contact information?"

"Hmn? Oh, yes, only Sgt. Germania, though," darn, that was the blond, wasn't it? "Rome forgot his at the station."

"Ah, at least we have one, da?" the pressure around his waist increased, "N-natalia? Could you go and find the number that Sgt. Germania left?" maybe he could get her off by asking for a favour...

"Sister has it in her pocket." Natalia cooed, giving Ivan an extra squeeze.

_Oww._

---

Ivan stood with his sisters at the edge of a small park. When he and Katyusha were younger, they would sneak out together at night and climb one of the trees there. If you sat on just the right branch, it was possible to see the games being played at the city's sports arena across the way. The distance wasn't bad, either--only a kilometre or so from their home. Ivan had never liked baseball himself, but he did like spending time with Katyusha and they both liked climbing trees.

There was a game on tonight, and it would be preposterous for anyone to stage an attack in the midst of the scattered crowd. Just enough people to deter open shows of violence, but not enough to provide cover for a covert strike. Banners, signposts and trees blocked the view from above, making sniper shots near impossible.

It was an assassin's nightmare.

"You'll wait here, da?" Ivan looked at his sisters: they'd changed into sets of clean clothes after having washed up and now looked like perfectly normal girls. Natalia sported her schoolbag, while Katyusha held a large rucksack. Each had taken only their essentials.

Ivan, on the other hand, wasn't quite as presentable. He'd washed the blood off, but no matter how hard he scrubbed, his coat remained stained. Being as it was winter and he owned no other suitable outerwear, he had to make do. At least Katyusha had mended the holes and tears.

"I'm sure the marks will come out." Katyusha comforted, sensing the source of her brother's silence.

"Da, thank you Katyusha." how embarrassing to be caught worrying about a coat during a crisis!

"Do you have to go, brother?" Natalia. She'd calmed down somewhat, but the mention of Ivan leaving still made her a bit...uh...clingy...

"Mn. We'll meet up later, though, okay?"

"And then brother and I will join?"

The boy decided to pretend that 're-join' had been said instead of 'join' and continued: "Katyusha will be there too, da~" he turned, eyeing the nearby stadium carefully. There was a phone-booth a block away, but Ivan wondered if there mightn't be a public phone inside...no, best to go somewhere private, "I love you two very much, da? Be careful," the girls nodded, though Yekaterina was openly bawling and Natalia was trying not to cry, "Good! Now, I'm going to leave, so pretend you don't know me, da?" He smiled.

If Ivan had thought he could hug them and be able to let go, he would. As was, he gave a short nod of parting before turning to walk away.

_Please, let us meet again._

_---_

Germania had never much liked phones. In fact, he had never got on well with modern technology in general (one of the few things he and Rome could agree on). If someone wanted to say something to him, they could either a.) go find him, or b.) write him a letter. On paper. Computers were just about the only things worse than phones. Phones at least could come in useful now and again--like when you wanted to leave a room but wouldn't otherwise be allowed to.

The phone opened with a snap while the blond raised the device to his ear, "Your name?" conversation via phones was another thing the man didn't care for. Even with caller I.D, you never knew to whom you were speaking until you asked.

"There are two people outside of the entrance to the sports arena. Get to them as soon as you can, da?"

"Who is thi--"

"Uvidimsia, Sgt. Germania~" with that, the line went dead.

Germania clicked his phone shut, glaring at the blasted device it as if doing so could curse the caller into receiving exceptional amounts of physical pain. Despite the fact that he was good at taking orders, Germania didn't like being told what to do. Especially by creepy little brats.

---

The blond detective stepped into the police chief's office to find the storm of fury that was his partner. The brunette was still in a heated 'discussion' with their boss. How the sound hadn't carried more clearly into the hallways was a mystery, "Rome. We're going for a drive."

"No, we're not. And when the Hell did you get back in here?"

"Just now. And we are. Grab your coat."

"Listen, Germania, I--" the Italian growled in frustration as his partner threw a jacket at his head. That was it. He'd been good about violence, but Germania really needed to be hit. Didn't he see that these kid's lives were at stake?!

The chief allowed a particularly unmanly squeak to sneak past his lips as Rome swung for his partner's head.

The throw missed its target, connecting instead with Germania's hand, where it was promptly caught in one end of a handcuff. The other clamped into place soon after.

_Shit. That's right. This guy knows how to fight and is quick with the restraints._

Rome forcefully ignored the voice in the back of his head cackling about something having to do with the word 'kinky.' It may be generated by his own brain, but he still didn't want to know. Not now, at least...

---

Germania had never been a man of many words, but the chief wished that he would sometimes let those around him know what he was doing. It made all the difference between 'I'm throwing my partner in a cell because he's being aggressive,' and 'I'm taking my partner home to 'work off' some aggression.'

If you get what that means...

_For a pair of BDSM fetishists, they sure are effective officers..._

_---_

"Listen, you kinky bastard--" ergh, there was that voice again! And this time he'd said the thought out loud.

"What?" Germania didn't even turn around to look as he all but literally dragged Rome through the halls of the station. They were getting weird stares, but that wasn't anything unusual. What wasn't there to stare at? Especially given his own good looks...

Rome went skidding forward as a sudden tug almost sent him slamming into the station's front door. He was strangely reminded of when he'd decided to conquer some mob-run bar and Germania handcuffed him to the wheel of their car for the night. Apparently, raiding criminal hot-spots without warrant is a crime. Pfff!

Actually, to be more accurate about it, the blond had handcuffed Rome to the wheel so that the he could be more easily tied into the seat. It was only as an afterthought that the cuffs were left on. _That _had been weird-stare central, but at least they eventually got to do the raid.

"Why did you stop me? You realise what's happening?!"

"Actually, _were _something to have been happening, it would currently be done."

"How can you be so fucking heartle... wait..._were_?" As in conditional tense usage? Like, 'if such a thing were to be the case...?' "Fine, I get the point. I'll follow_." _

"I wasn't giving you a choice."

"You smug---Oww! What the heck?! Quit tugging that! It hurts!"

---

Germania had taken his personal car instead of their police cruiser. He never drove his own car for work. It wasn't particularly expensive, but the blond was profusely paranoid about--actually, Rome had no idea what about. The blond was just antsy and paranoid in general.

Something was up.

"You can unchain me now, you know."

"Probably."

"You probably know or you could probably unchain me?"

"A little bit of both; I'm currently occupied by driving."

"Then pull the fuck over!" the Germania sighed in exasperation, as if what his partner was asking were totally unreasonable, but did as he was told, "why are we out here, anyway? I followed 'cause it sounded like you knew something."

"No, you followed because I was dragging you. You stopped struggling because you thought that I know something, which I do."

"...bastard. What is it, then?"

Germania produced the keys from some unseen pocket and proceeded to release his reluctant passenger, "It's about that call I took in the middle of your argument. I think it was Ivan Braginski."

"Wait, what? Isn't that the one you said was really creepy?"

The blond nodded, smoothly manoeuvring the car had been idling back into the stream of traffic, "He called, notified me that there were two people outside of the entrance to the city sports arena that we should go find post haste."

"That was it?"

"No, he also said something along the lines of 'see you' in Russian."

"Uhm... that is creepy."

"Indeed. But, creepy as he is, I believe he has his family's best interests at heart. Thinking back on when I spoke to him, I'm fairly certain he'd been trying to chase me off in order to defend his sisters."

"Oh, yeah, 'cause you made them cry. Jerk."

"You met them. They're fragile."

"Doesn't that make it worse?!"

"Depends who you're asking, but that Braginski boy certainly thought. I can't see him tolerating much when it comes to harming his sisters. If he's alive, then so are they."

---

Ivan watched from the safety of a shaded corner across the as a markedly nondescript-looking vehicle pulled up to the curb near where his sisters stood. He tensed, momentarily nervous that the car's occupants might be dangerous, but soon a familiar brunette head popped out and all fears were allayed. Sgt. Rome waved Natalia and Yekaterina over while Sgt. Germania busied himself analysing the area.

Analysis was never good. Especially when it was being done by that man; Ivan got the feeling the older blond didn't miss much.

---

If anything, the Braginski house was more of a mess when Ivan returned to it than it had been before he left. It was also on fire.

After a little more than an hour of searching, he confirmed that the bodies were also missing. Either that or they had burnt along with the building.

The sound of a snapping twig and a string of Russian swears alerted Ivan to the presence of another. He faced the direction of the newcomer, grip tightening on his faucet pipe, but smile never faltering. Ivan had never known how convenient fallen branches could be until people started trying to kill him, "I should thank you for disposing of the bodies for me. I've never done it before, so it would have been difficult, da?"

A soft grind and a click was his only reply. Another gun?

"I've already been shot a few times tonight. I'm not sure if you noticed, but I'm still standing, da."

"I'm a good shot." the speaker was male, with short, dusky-brown hair, and an angular face. He wore the same dark clothing as the men that had attacked Ivan's home, but carried with him only one weapon. No mask, no gloves, nothing to his identity. Whoever he was, his primary occupation wasn't that of a killer.

Ivan hummed, "But I'm decently far away and it's dark. I could dodge, da? How long have you been out?"

"Since long before you arrived. Why? You think I came here just for you?" the brunette gave a rough laugh, and pulled the trigger. He missed.

Another shot. Another miss.

And again.

Why were his hands shaking? He wasn't scared, but...

"You're having trouble shooting, da?"

Miss.

Miss.

Miss again.

What was with him today? He'd wasted more than half of his rounds. It was this blasted shivering.

The man blinked, startled, as he realised that he'd lost his concentration and let the brat get close enough to strike with his metal rod. It also decreased the chances of a shot missing.

The brunette pushed down on the trigger, but instead of the familiar blasting noise, heard a crack. His legs gave way under him, and he fell, knees smashed, to the snow.

-

Looking down, he giggled in delight, kicking the firearm easily from his opponent's hand.

All things considered, it was a bit unusual that Ivan had noticed: the man's body was shaking. The uniform gloves seemed to be only to avoid leaving fingerprints, and the face-covering ski-masks to hide one's identity, but they also did something else: provide warmth. It was well below freezing, and would have made sense to wear heavier clothes. If this person were a member of some sort of crime cover-up team, it would make sense to dress light and move quickly. But having sat in wait, watching Ivan for over an hour (and accounting for the time he'd been outside before that), there was little to no chance that the man wasn't in a state of moderate, nearing severe hypothermia. Shaking, loss of feeling, confusion, uncooperative muscles--it was the worst condition for a marksman to try to shoot in. His hands might even refuse to move.

"Prosti menya~ It seems that every time someone points a weapon at me, my attackers end up on the ground. It's bad to hurt people, but everyone keeps refusing to play nice and get along." the boy knelt, applying light pressure to the older man's now-smashed knees.

"Shhhiii---the fuck is wrong with you?!" Ivan ground down harder and let loose a short laugh; this person was funny! Had he forgotten that he'd been trying to kill the boy a moment earlier? "I mean--fu--what do you want from me?"

"Ah! That's much better!" the pressure let up and the assassin sighed in relief. There was crazy and then there was Crazy. This kid was Crazy with a capital 'c.' It was no real surprise--he'd met the brat's father and could only imagine the sort of head-games a person like that would inflict on an innocent brat, "Now, I'd like you to tell me who sent you and why."

"You nuts? If I do that, the boss'll kill me!"

The boy frowned, "Da, but if you don't, then _I'll_ kill you."

Somehow, that wasn't hard to believe. Better to appease the deamon before you than the one soon to come... "We're from the Russian mafia. The boss sent us since it's policy to kill traitors and their families. I'm just part of the recon team."

"Why their families?" silvery-blond bangs dusted across large purple eyes as the youth tilted his head in genuine confusion.

"Your eyes are purple." a stupid statement, but the man had never seen anything even remotely like it.

"Da. But that has nothing to do with what I was asking." another giggle.

_Shit, even if this kid doesn't smash me to death with his metal pipe or whatever it is, I might still die of fear._

"What's your name?" _Got'ta regain the upper ground. Bring him back to my pace._

"Hmmn... that wasn't a bad attempt, but you go first~" fuck. So the boy was just like his dad when it came to reading people...

"Gleb."

"I'm Ivan. It's nice to meet you."

"Uh, yeah." _y'know, in the way that having my kneecaps smashed can count as 'nice.'_

"I asked before, but why the family, too?"

"Blackmail. No one wants their families dead. It also prevents little bouts of revenge like yours." Gleb was rather surprised to have his statement met with a laugh.

"I'm not interested in avenging my father, da. It was kind of funny to hear how he died," Funny? Yeah, sure the guy was an evil shit, but funny? "he let his pride in his ability to read others get in the way of his reading others~"

Well, when he put it like that, it kind of was ironic. Gleb smiled.

"Ah! You smiled! We have the same sense of humour, da!"

"Yeah, I guess." well, it was amusing...

"What sort of person is your boss?" by this point, the boy looked simply delighted. It was as if his family weren't marked for death and his house weren't burning a few yards away.

"Eh, he's a bit of a jerk. Good at what he does, though. Why?"

"He's good at it? Isn't he a bit overcautious? Surely, if your group is as strong as you say, it wouldn't need to worry about revenge attempts from children~"

"Children grow into adults," Gleb looked Ivan up and down, noting his seemingly solid frame and the steady way he held himself. His file'd said he was twelve. If he was able to take out a full team and the recon agent at twelve, what would he be capable of as an adult? How transparent would others' minds become? "even a person who's harmless when he or she's little, could turn into something dangerous when big."

The boy hummed, "To me that just sounds like he's afraid of his weakness being seen. Kind of like a tiny dog that always barks, da?" Gleb looked on in wonder as the boy stood and dusted the snow from his jacket. He moved to the gun and pocketed it before turning to leave, "it was brave of you to not talk, da? Even after I hurt you, you still didn't say a thing~ How loyal!" he giggled, kicking the older man closer to the burning building before heading off into the nearby trees. Was he trying to stop Gleb from freezing? "Hmmn, but I'm just a little boy... children don't know much, da? They're even sloppy enough to mistake things like courage and loyalty for defeat~" another giggle danced through the air as the boy dissapeared from sight, "Uvidimsia, Gleb!"

The sound of the boy's cheerful gait followed him into the woods, and Gleb felt his abnormally racing heart slow in his chest. He hadn't noticed it been beating so quickly. What had that been about? Not only leaving his enemy alive, but also providing an excuse? Braginski senior was a creep, but this junior was...

The injured man wasn't certain about the other's motivation, but he did know one thing for sure: kid or no, Ivan wasn't someone he wanted to cross.

_God help us if he ever grows to be an adult._

---

Ivan smiled to himself, humming into the frigid night air. He had made good progress this evening. Not only were his sisters relatively safe, but evidence of any crime had been taken care of. He'd also learnt a few things, and placed a foothold for future use. It was really better than he could have hoped for.

What he needed now was more information:

_It's very poor judgement indeed to move a piece without knowing the terms of the game._

-----

-----

**Ending Note:**

**Russian:**

Net - No.

Uvidimsia! - Something along the lines of 'see you!'

Gleb - A common boy's name. It's pronounced GLYEB (caps show emphasis). Totally random, but Ivan's name would be pronounced eeVAHN. EYEvan is a non-Russian way of saying the name. :3

Prosti menya - An informal apology. You'd use it with friends. Ivan's just being cute and snuggly.

**Random Notes: **

Late chapter is late, but long chapter is also long! '__'; Hopefully that makes up for it? X___x;;; The next chapter should be out sooner. Sorry again for the delay! ^__^;

Oh, Rome. Poor, poor Rome. Please excuse the police chief's bizarre theory that having alternative interests should somehow decrease your work performance. '__'; He's a bit dumb like that (which is why he gets written out! :D Yay! ).

Ahaha, and Gleb. The poor thing. Whatever he's thinking Ivan's up to is totally wrong. *laughs*

For anyone wondering, yes, the hypothermia is General Winter in the AU-verse. Ivan, may the freezing bitter, arse-numbing winter always be on your side. XD

A random apology for not having Yao show up yet. I hope that Ivan's story is worth reading on its own for now. I really want to explain why he is how he is and the reasons behind his actions before getting into any romance, because as much as I love the guy, Ivan can be a bit cruel. I don't plan to take that aspect of his character away, so he'll need fairly careful development to make any snuggly-lovey non-abusive relationship reasonable. '__';;; Once Yao does come in, he's going to be the main focus for some time, so, with luck that'll make up for his current absence. ^__^;;; But, yes--sorry about the wait! __;

Annd, if you read, please review! Even a word or two to let me know that you're reading would be fine. Reviews are my life-blood and speed updates, so, uh... please? You can send ebvil (live evil, only more cute) mini!Ivan after your enemies if you do? :D [ WTF XDD ]

Until next time~


	5. Where to Start

**When You Can't Beat Them, Become One**

_Sometimes there are things you'd rather not do. Like the dishes. Or laundry. Or running a massive network of syndicated crime. Small things. Ivan never intended to take over the mob, and Yao never meant to go near it again. Russia/China_

_---_

**Author's Note:** ASkdasjdjh~! M'kay, so, here's the deal: This is a semi-filler chapter. Yes, it gets things moving (actually, it's a whole lot of plot!setup), but it's micro!tiny, and really exists for the sole purpose of letting you all know that my computer died. As in, I need to get a new one. I save constantly, but that's not much help when the hard-drive is semi-fried. =___=; So, yeah. Dead computer is dead. It took with it over ten pages of writing (AHHH~ ;____; ), and all of the edits on everything it didn't totally eat. =___=; I was having difficulty deciding where to cut the chapters, so I wrote 5 & 6 in one go (right up to where Yao steps in~ ). Then---computer deaathh~! *flails*

Anyway, I'm working on re-writing it, so please bare with me. .___.;

**Warnings:** Mild swearing, Rome/Germania, shortness... =___=;

-----

-----

Until that moment, Ivan had never known that doing nothing could be such hard work. He had been crouching in a bush under one of the police station's windows since late the night before. It was now 7:00 in the morning and his legs felt as if they might fall off.

_This is worse than moving heavy boxes, da~ _Ivan muttered to himself, wondering absently at the passing of time. Had it really been yesterday that he'd gone to work and returned as usual? So much had changed. It felt like months had elapsed.

_I've become so different in a day, da?_

_ Or maybe this is normal for me... _A quieter voice interjected.

Ivan bristled, trying to wash out the thought much as one would a stain on a new shirt. No one adjusted to the feeling of killing in a day. It wasn't possible to acclimate to the necessity of manipulation and death at the bat of an eye.

It was just like with the cold: the boy hated it, yet was unfazed by temperatures that most found uninhabitable. Fate was said to deal every life a hand of cards, yes? It could just be that Ivan's hand was full of things like winter, fighting, terror--

_No! It's not! I won't let it!_

"Really? How adorable..." a German-accented voice floated out from the small opening in the window above him. The speaker didn't sound impressed.

_Finally._

Ivan had waited all night for the Sgt.s to arrive. After thinking about how to gather information, he'd realised that he really didn't have many options. The point was to figure out where to start, but he didn't even know how to go about beginning that! What he needed was a nice collected file of relevant information. Like the police files pertaining to his family's case.

It was a good idea, or would have been, if such things weren't locked in cabinets deep within the confines of the city's police station.

Obviously, breaking or trying to sneak in wouldn't work, nor would walking in and asking; he'd need another means of access. Perhaps through the Sgt.s...?

So, after having left Gleb near the burning wreck that had once been called home, Ivan had come and scouted out the station. The powers that be must have been with him then, as he soon saw a folder with a large yellow sticky note attached: 'Rome, write your fucking report.'

To say that the young Russian suspected he might have found his quarry's office would be an understatement.

It was actually quite a nice space. The walls were covered with various charts, graphs, maps and news clippings. They weren't arranged in any order that Ivan could see, but it must have made sense to the detectives as they also had a (very) large stack labelled 'Solved Cases Awaiting Write-up.'

Apparently, Rome and Germania were quite a bit more talented than Ivan had originally thought, if not a bit less interested in paperwork.

As for furniture, there were two desks, two chairs, a wire folder wrack, and a bookcase. The books and folders were painstakingly ordered, as was one of the desks but the other was...eh...it was a very good source of information. Yes, that was a good way to put it: the second desk was a thing that Ivan appreciated: there were photographs, open case files (none relevant, unfortunately), phone numbers, business cards-- and they'd all been left next to an open window. How careless.

--

"Rome?"

"Yes Sunshine?"

"Call me that again and risk castration." the blond was serious.

"Huuh? Grumpy..." Germania visibly twitched at his partner's reply.

"As I was saying--"

"You love me?"

"--you left the window and shades open."

Rome gasped, placing a hand over his heart, "What's this? You didn't deny your love?"

"--you have all of those files out, your business cards, pictures of your grandsons--"

"Ooh~! Aren't they just the cutest?" Rome made a grab at the frame as if to hug it before being jerked back by his tie.

"Hey! That hurt!" a pout crept its way onto the Italian's face. Germania was no fun at all! Too much work, too little play...not that Rome was thinking about...uhm...

_Shit. Fuck. Mental images. Bad. No. Stop. Immediately. NOW._

"You'll survive. We only came here to pick up those papers for today's court hearing."

"I know, I know..." Rome frowned, slumping slightly as he set about shuffling a few papers into a manila envelope before suddenly brightening. He may be losing both his self control and mind, but not all was bad with the world, "did I tell you that my grandsons and I are going to that great bakery today? I get to pick them up strait after school."

"Thrilling. Do you have everything?"

The blond didn't sound too thrilled, but that was probably because he hadn't understood the full glory of the Italian's meaning: "It's that really great one with the muffins."

Germania froze, "Muffins?" Rome smirked: mission 'Force Germania to Change His Facial Expression At Least Once Before the Hearing' had been accomplished!

"Yeah! Those blueberry ones. I'm so happy~" the brunette was all but singing, "muffins and grandsons--it's going to be a beautiful day. There's nothing-" Rome watched the blond's eyes glaze over as Germania sunk deeper into a muffin-filled fantasy realm--

--and proceeded to joyfully smack him on the head, using the (finally) gathered case files instead of his own hand so as to avoid being bitten.

_Not that I would mind him biting m---AHh!_

"Germania!" must. Break. Awful. Thought process, "What's the matter? You weren't listening!"

The question was met with a scowl, "I think there would be more cause for concern if I _were_ listening," and the scowl became a frown, "why are you so jumpy today? It's like you're trying to stop yourself from thinking about somethin--"

"Jealous!" Crap. Rome had almost forgotten about that minor inconvenience: aside from being a cold-hearted bastard, Germania had another really major flaw: he could read people well enough that it should probably count as some form of telepathy, "Of my muffins. You're just mad 'cause you _think_ you're not getting any muffins." Worst. Cover-up. Ever.

"Hmn?" yet, the promise of muffins seemed to allow the blatant, painfully glaring bullshit that was Rome's excuse to bypass the blond's usually astute nonsense-filters.

"We still need to work on this new case," Rome started out the door, brandishing his folder for emphasis, "I'll grab an extra bag for you and we can eat them while we talk over the material." Yeah, they needed to talk alright...

--

If Ivan didn't know any better, he would have sworn he'd heard Germania say 'thanks' just before the door to the Sgt.'s office swung shut.

_Muffins, da?_

For such successful people, they sure spoke about weird things.

---

The detectives' car was well out of sight before Ivan dared to move from the safety of his bush. Ivan's usual gait turned to an unsteady hobble (sitting in one spot...never again), and his back hurt like he'd just worked a triple shift at the docks, but at least he knew where to start.

---

A slip of paper fell innocently on the front counter of the elementary school's main office. The secretary was busy on the phone, there were no security cameras, and no one else seemed in. Perfect.

-----

-----

**A Question for YOU! *points*:**

The next chapter is half-complete and that half could probably be posted solo (a bit cliffhanger-e, but it works ^__^; ). It'd be a pretty-much instant update, but would make for more chapters (though, not more text) before Yao pops up. Would you rather I update quickly with a shorter chapter, or wait a bit longer for the longer chapter to be rewritten & edited? The amount of text and total wait would be the same in the long run, it's just how many installments you'd be willing to tolerate things being posted in (longer than this, but shorter than usual). =___=;;

Anyway, thank you so much again and many, many, many apologies about the wait! X____x;


	6. The Bridge by Westing Street

**When You Can't Beat Them, Become One**

_Sometimes there are things you'd rather not do. Like the dishes. Or laundry. Or running a massive network of syndicated crime. Small things. Ivan never intended to take over the mob, and Yao never meant to go near it again. Russia/China_

_---_

**Author's Note:** Chapter, chapter, we have a chapter~ *runs around singing and dancing* :D

And happier (or more distressing--depending upon your view-point) yet, there will be another one tomorrow night! :D Muahaha!

I'd originally wanted this and another segment to be one chapter, but reading things over again, two chapters seemed a better fit. Besides, when everything is together, it's twenty pages long. '__';;;;; Kind'a long, mn? ^___^;;;

Anyway, I do hope that you enjoy it! Sorry again about the wait!

P.s., I don't own Hetalia, its characters, etc. *blinks*

-----

-----

Rome's car rolled to a halt in front of his grandson's elementary school. The man stepped out, humming to happily. The hearing had gone beautifully, justice had been served, and he had, once again, conquered his foe. Well, Germania had helped, but the blond didn't always need to be included in internal sessions of gloating--in fact, he usually wasn't.

It was a beautiful day, cold as usual, but with blue, clear skies and little added chill from the wind. Toppled snowmen and sieged play forts littered the school's play-field. It must be nice to be a kid. Rome wanted to make a castle and hurl snowballs at people, too, but adults didn't get to do anything fun like that unless they were playing with children.

_Romano and Feliciano..._ the Italian sighed. He loved his grandchildren, that was plain to see, but sometimes he wished they'd be a bit more...what was the word? Adventurous? War-like? Both boys were adorable, but neither was particularly strong or intellectually capable. They liked to do art, cook, and be loved. Romano wouldn't admit to that, even on pain of death, but it's just how things were. Luckily for them, both boys were very lovable. Even Germania had thought so! Well, sort of. If Rome recalled correctly, the blond had said something along the lines of 'They'll make great housewives,' then left. Something about the wailing...

But, aww! Housewives! It was such a cute mental image! Romano would be a bit of a handful, but Feliciano would definitely be the perfect wife.

Well, except for the fact that he's male. But, who's to say that men can't be wives, huh? Rome defied anyone to meet Feliciano and say that he couldn't be a wife. All one needed was to see Feli in his little dress and apron rolling out pasta to be convinced.

He would be a wife. Not a husband, a wife.

As for Romano, he could probably be either, but he'd need someone incredibly laid-back and able to defend him or herself in order for the marriage to work. For someone with such little natural fighting ability, Romano sure had one heck of a temper...

Playing match-maker for those two would be such fun~

That was, assuming that Rome could find them.

Neither boy was at the flagpole, and Rome couldn't hear the sounds of their voices... granted, he was a little bit late, but they were good boys and would surely wait, right? Perhaps they'd been held up in other parts of the school? Just as Rome was about to set off to look, his phone rang. The number was unmarked. Both boys had mobile phones (which were obviously in Rome's contact list), but perhaps the battery had run out...on both phones... Maybe they were using a pay phone. Yeah. He'd be willing to go with that for the time being.

"Hello?"

"Ah, Sgt. Rome?"

"Yes, who is this?"

"Hmn...I don't think you're in a position to ask that. Shall I tell you my demands?"

"Wait, what?" No, oh, crap no.

"Your grandsons. I have them. If you'd like them to live, please bring the files regarding the Braginski case to the bridge by Westing Street. You'll drop them on the strip of moss to the left of the underside of the bridge. There is only one such location and you should see what I mean once you arrive. To keep the trade tidy, I'll release the boys to you from the opposite end."

"You--"

"Contact anyone and I cannot guarantee your grandsons' well-being. Go anywhere other than to get the files and it's the same. I expect you to be here, files in hand, within the next fifteen minutes. It's probably best if you come faster, though. The less time they spend with me, the more simple this all will be for them to brush off~"

With that the line went dead.

Rome ran toward his car, cursing in every language he knew. There was no way in Hell he'd give up information about a case, but there was even less of a chance he'd let his grandsons get hurt. Whoever this asshole was, he seemed to have done his research, but clearly didn't know not well enough to know exactly whom he was messing with. Sure, the Italian had mellowed out over recent years, but he was still Rome, loose-cannon ace of the city's police force. The man the higher-ups had to bring in an elite military combat [and survival] specialist to keep in line (well, kind of...Germania just came by chance, but the point still stands)! He had taken out whole Mafia bases single-handedly. He'd wiped out entire crime syndicates alone. Why? Because: Rome may be generally relaxed, but Heaven, Hell, and anything in-between help whoever made him angry.

And taking his grandkids? Rome didn't get much angrier than that.

He'd get the files and show up as demanded, but as soon as those kids were safe...the kidnapper was going down.

---

It had been about five minutes since Rome had arrived. He'd dropped the files on the patch of moss near the underside of the bridge as instructed and was now waiting. The man scanned the area from his vantage point atop the bridge: he saw no one. It was a lovely part of the city, albeit too close to some of the higher crime areas to be a terribly suitable place to bring kids to play. The Italian was most familiar with locations that were either a.) criminal hot-spots, or b.) playgrounds. The bridge by Westing street was none of the above.

_Feli...Romano..._

It was taking too damned long.

Why did this guy want the files for some closed case, anyway? Obviously the Russian Mafia was going to be after those kids until they died, but the girls were safe at Germania's house (if you could call a quaint little stone cottage with steel-reinforced walls, CCTV, and windows made of bullet-proof glass a 'house'--fucking paranoid geek...), and the boy was--

Rome's phone rang.

Without looking at the caller I.D., he answered it: "Hello?"

"Gramps!"

"R-Romano?" the Italian had never been quite so happy to have his ear shouted off, "Are you okay?"

"Pfft! We've been waiting for you for ages," the boy stretched the last word to show his irritation, "you left a letter telling us to head to the bakery and then don't come?! Do you know how worried Feliciano's been?"

He'd what? "No! No! It's just, uh--"

"It's not his fault that his work ran over! Grampa Rome works hard. And it may not be pasta, but the bakery is warm and the cakes are pretty! So, please don't be mad." typical Feli. Such a little angel.

"Ah! Feliciano! So forgiving!" Rome sniffed, putting on quite the show of being touched--shocking as it was, the brunette really knew how to act, "But, uh... you _are_ safe, right?"

"No. The biscuits took us captive and are going to kill us. Now hurry the heck up! Feliciano's getting hungry." By which Romano meant that he was hungry, but didn't want to admit it.

Well, it looked like the boys were okay.

So what was all that about a ransom? A diversion? No, not possible. Based upon the letter received by his grandsons, the perpetrator had known that Rome would be at the bakery. And threatening his grandsons showed an awareness of Rome's fondness for the boys. Meaning, the perp. would have known that even without a feigned kidnapping, Rome would have been thoroughly distracted. A diversion was redundant. There was also the small matter of asking for the Braginski case files in particular. Why would the caller be so specific if he didn't even plan on showing up?

Rome looked down at the moss beside the bridge; what was this person thinkin--

They were gone.

The files were gone.

"Grampa Rome!"

_Ah, shit..._ he'd forgotten that the boys were still on the line. That's right. He couldn't let something like this derail him. There's be plenty of time to think things over when his grandsons were at his side and safe (not that they weren't already), "Aww! Romano, you sound so cute when you're angry!" the boy growled, and Rome smiled--kids are so easy to distract, "You're right, you're right. I apologise. It's just that you two are so cute~!"

"O-okay! Okay!" Ah, how adorable. Romano was so easily embarrassed, "just hurry up and get here, okay?"

"I'm on my way, my little love-muffins~ Don't you worr--" the line went dead.

Haha. Romano really was cute. He was gon'na be hell for whoever ended up with, (assuming the boy didn't grow out of it, which he probably wouldn't), but that was part of his charm.

Rome spared one last glance at the spot where the case files had been only moments before. Who on Earth would stage a fake kidnapping? That wasn't how the theory of hostage-taking worked. You'd have to be either an amateur or a genius to try to pull something like this off. The purpose of taking a captive is to use psychological pressure against your opponent in order to achieve a goal. Guilt, urgency, hopelessness--it all feeds into a state of desperation. And who can be logical when he or she is desperate (other than Germania... he didn't count)? The best way to look at it is as a game: imagine you've been placed in a giant maze. At the end of the maze is another person, who will be killed if you don't find the exit within a given period of time. Mechanisms are set to lock down various passages as the deadline draws closer. Eventually, there's only one path remaining: the one your opponent wants for you to choose.

What had just happened was different. Instead of a maze, it had been more like a medium-length, hallway lined with many windows. At the end of the hallway was a door, (which would be clearly visible from the starting line) and behind the door, were the hostages. They would be killed if you didn't A.) reach the door in 45 seconds or less, or B.) looked out one of the windows.

Of course, there would be no hostages behind the door, and all of the windows would have signs posted outside declaring that you were playing a safe little game. You'd just never notice because all of your focus was on the goal strait ahead and the 45-second limit on time.

In other words, instead of blocking off Rome's options, his opponent had created an artificial sense of tunnel-vision. Something that pointed less to a beginner's sloppy luck, and more to a terrifying level of tactical genius.

The Italian shook his head and started to laugh. He'd been tricked into being tricked by a trick. Or something like that. It was really convoluted and kind of made Rome's head hurt. A lot.

Damn. Whoever it was, the guy was good.

With that, Rome swung into his car, started up the engine and began the drive towards the bakery.

Romano would have his grandfather's head if the wait got any longer.

---

_- Eight minutes prior -_

_-  
_

Ivan didn't like this plan. There were too many chances for something to go wrong.

_Trying to predict someone I've never met is hard, da~_

Ivan had seen Sgt. Rome twice: once sitting in a closed car eating something, and the second time chatting with his partner as they left Ivan's home. Rome had seemed warm and cheery at first, but the instant the door closed, his personality had undergone a drastic change. It wasn't cold like his partner's, but it was...different. The best way to describe it was as switching from the feeling of sunlight to that of a thick, ancient forest. He was multi-faceted, yet simple, and wise, with a calm but very much alive air about him. The man was smart, a great actor, and knew how to get what he wanted.

From what Ivan had seen of Germania, the blond was blunt, professional, dangerously perceptive, and more than capable of making detached, fully logical decisions in any given situation. Instead of something warm and living, his presence reminded the boy of cold rain, and the ocean during a storm.

They made an interesting pair: the sun filtered through the ocean, bringing it light and warmth, just as the rain cleansed and fuelled the forest. Two seemingly incompatible people leading a nearly symbiotic existence--similar-opposites.

_I wonder if I'll ever meet anyone like that, da..._

Ivan couldn't help but to smile, mind drifting to what such a person might be like for him:

_I am not very honest about my methods, so he would have to be a bit more strait-forward, da? _

_And since I am very big, maybe he could be very small? I seem to be good at fighting, but I don't know anything about it, so, he would be someone to study such things...and I take care of people by being protective, so he should be more nurturing, da. He would get annoyed easily, too, since it's so hard to make me mad~_

The young Russian giggled, pleased with the image of a tiny, strait-forward, nurturing person with a short temper and high-end fighting capabilities. That would be so cute!

_Eee... what am I thinking? Daydreaming about something impossible and silly when I should be working!_

Really, he should have been. Rome was to be arriving any minute, and Ivan was still going only on what he could gather from brief glances and extrapolations based upon Germania's behaviour.

A person so good at staying in control would not have been assigned to a relaxed partner. The police would have wanted him keeping someone in line. Although Rome had seemed relaxed, he was also a good actor, and had made a point of keeping his emotions veiled in front of Ivan's sisters. Probably not the sort to react publicly unless he lost his temper.

If Germania's strengths were anything to go by (which Ivan sincerely hoped that they were), Rome would be the type to become incredibly emotional and rash, likely to the point of requiring physical intervention. Someone like that would be dangerous to get near, but easy enough to knock off-centre. Ivan just had to tap at what the man cared for, then use anger, urgency and apparent simplicity to keep the Italian unaware until the files had been collected.

_It shouldn't be long, now, da...it would be best to get into position... _

The boy blinked, large indigo eyes scanning the area as he made towards the dense bush under the bridge. The sector had once been host to the promenade at the centre of the city's shopping district. Now, the area was too near to the slums for anyone to bother with, but the thick, towering trees lining the riverside still remained. They kept snow from the patches of moss that grew behind the rocks along the water--something that was key to the success of Ivan's plan: crawling through snow was noisy and left marks. Moss, on the other hand, was quiet to walk on, and unlike grass, popped back into place of its own accord.

The boy sighed, dropping to his knees to stare down at the base of one of the bushes. There was a hole there, just wide enough to crawl through, behind which sat a defunct drainage pipe that ran under the Westing Street side of the bridge. This was where he would hide: directly under the Sgt.'s feet.

The plan was for the Italian to arrive, drop the files on the moss next to the bridge (a short crawl from Ivan's location), and wait. Ivan had written a letter, doing his best to copy Rome's strangely neat penmanship (while wearing gloves, no less), explaining to the school and the man's grandsons that the Sgt. would be fourty-five minutes late, and that the boys should head to the bakery on their own. They were to call the Sgt. if he took much longer, just to check in.

Ivan had then stood outside of the school until Rome appeared. There was a pay-phone inside, meant for students without mobile phones, which the boy had headed to once he saw the Italian arrive. It was then a matter of watching from a nearby window until the man seemed to panic. The call had been placed, ultimatum delivered, and Rome had left. Ivan then ran as fast as he could to the pre-examined bridge (5-6 minutes total), re-checked that everything was in place, and entered the defunct drain pipe.

So far, the call had probably been the most difficult part. Rome had never heard Ivan's voice, so there would be no identifying him like that, and he'd been painstakingly careful to avoid saying 'da' during the call. Even if Germania had mentioned something of the boy's speech patterns, saying 'da' was the only thing that set Ivan apart from the hundreds of other Russian immigrants.

Now Rome had to appear. This was the biggest gamble: weighing the temper of a man the boy had never met against the impatience of two grandsons he'd never known. If the boys called too early, the deal was off. If they called too late, Rome might get fed up and leave. The forty-five minutes mentioned in the letter had allowed for lateness on Rome's part, and impatience from his grandsons, but it was still just an estimate.

Ivan strongly disapproved of gambling, but right now, he had no choice.

---

Tires squealed against concrete as what Ivan presumed to be Rome's car pulled up. The door slammed with an almost violent force, as steady, precisely placed footsteps grew louder. A closed manilla envelope was harshly tossed to the moss, and fell without a sound.

It was terrifying.

When the Sgt. arrived, he brought with him an atmosphere more dangerous than any Ivan had experienced. Yes, he'd expected something extreme, but even from his safe little hole under the bridge, the boy could feel the Italian's desire to kill. There was no doubt in the Ivan's mind that anyone awful enough to actually kidnap that man's grandchildren would find him or herself beaten dead and left out for display with a pike through his or her body. There'd probably be a note attached as well: 'Touch my grandchildren, and you will die.'

Even under the circumstances, the young Russian suddenly found it very hard to not giggle. The looks on people's faces if they saw something like that would be so funny!

Ivan was pulled from his reverie at the sound of a familiar voice: "Hello?"

A pause.

"R-Romano? Are you okay?" the shock sounded genuine: time to move.

The boy shifted, focusing his attention everywhere other than the case files: they weren't moving, but things around them could still cause problems. He'd made a small sound when scraping past the underside of the bush, but Rome was either too distracted to notice, or the burbling sound of the river had blotted other, smaller noises out.

"No! No! It's just, uh--"

_Eee~ No rushing! Urgency is what he should feel, da! If the moss gets moved or torn, then I will be in more trouble than if am only able to get behind the bush instead of in the pipe. _

"Ah! Feliciano! So forgiving! But, uh... you _are_ safe, right?"

Something told the boy that he should have been scared, but, really, he was enjoying himself. The waiting had been scary, but when it came to actually doing something, it was lots of fun~

_Da! There!_

Ivan's hand settled triumphantly on the files as he began backtracking to the drain pipe as quickly and quietly as he could.

"Aww! Romano, you sound so cute when you're angry! You're right, you're right. I apologise. It's just that you two are so cute~!"

The bush rustled softly at the boy's passing once more, but at that point, it hardly mattered: Ivan was in. Safe in the drain-pipe with the folder tucked neatly inside of his coat. He'd have to check for tracking materials before leaving, but somehow, luck had worked on Ivan's side and everything had gone as planned.

"I'm on my way, my little love-muffins~ Don't you worr--" Rome stopped mid-word.

The line must have gone dead dead. Rome stood still for some time, doubtlessly reeling, before he headed off and into his car.

-

If Ivan ever got to see Katyusha again, he would have to thank her for being so clumsy. The space he now occupied had been found by accident, many years back. He and Katyusha had gone to play by the stream, which eventually led them to the side of the bridge. It was a bit muddy that day, having rained the night before, and Katyusha slipped and fell through the bush, onto the opening of the drain pipe.

They'd done a lot of exploring back before Natalia had been born, but after that, their father had kept the children locked indoors. He'd been a bit more lenient with Ivan, all but rewarding the boy when he picked a complex lock or rigged one of the windows to re-bolt after he exited, but for the girls, it was to school and then home. No exceptions.

The young Russian sighed, patiently listening for passers-by before deciding that it was safe to come out. The lower branches of the bush would have to be checked for snags of material, but otherwise, he didn't think he'd left and loose ends. That was good, because he would have to move quickly: It was a little after 3:00p.m now, and his shift at the docks started at 5:00p.m.

Three hours to get to the library (he would need dictionaries to make sense of the files), read and sort the information, and possibly arrange for some more meetings to take place.

_Eee...lots and lots to do~_

_-----_

_-----_

**Ending note:**

Right, so, Rome is a geek. XD; I love coming up with astonishingly stupid names for him to call people. *laughs*

Oh, and Feliciano? So a wife. *nodnod*

Got'ta love how Ivan doesn't mind brutally using someone who's helped his family. *laughs* Dear, sweet, batty little thing. ^__^;

Apologies if I bored you with the criminology-talk. It's meant to set up certain things about Ivan's character and the extent of his ebvil!plotting-skills. *laughs* For anyone that's curious, all of the criminology/psych. stuff mentioned in this fic. is actual theory. ^__^ It's what I study (Rome&Germania's jobs do want~ ;__; *makes grabby hands at job* )~ '__'; So, yeah. Actual theory, not total randomness. *laughs*

Reviews are appreciated beyond what I can say and may help kick my arse into inspiration-mode for the last stretch before the timeskip~ *is trudging through it right now* __

Love, love, LOVE to everyone who reviewed before! You are all made out of solid Win! 3


	7. The Importance of Information

**When You Can't Beat Them, Become One**

_Sometimes there are things you'd rather not do. Like the dishes. Or laundry. Or running a massive network of syndicated crime. Small things. Ivan never intended to take over the mob, and Yao never meant to go near it again. Russia/China_

_---_

**Author's Note:** Xomigosh! Slow update is slow! :O I had intended to have this up sooner, but the computer was needed elsewhere (laptop = not mine .__.; ), and when I got the thing back, I realised there was a whole section I had yet to edit. *is amazingly bright--promise* XDD;

**Warnings:** there are OCs (four, actually--fear not, they're all middle-aged men XD ). I needed people for Ivan to interact with in these Mafia groups, and Hetalia obviously only has one character per a nation, most of which are currently kids (read: are [mostly] not involved in anything shady). ^__^;;;; *laughs* So, please excuse their existence. ^__^;;;

Also, please excuse me if there are errors... =__=; Long chapter is long.

**Love for You!:** A massive, MASSIVE thank you out to all of my reviewers! *heart* I love you guys. Seriously. You make doing this so much fun~ ^.^ I can't understand why you want to read it, but thank you for doing so! ^__^;

**Worst Disclaimer Ever:** P.s., I do not own Hetalia. 0__o;

-----

-----

Ivan had always loved the library. There was something calming about the musty, dry smell of books--the way that their spines creaked when you opened them. Mostly, he enjoyed all of the information. If there was something he wanted to know, all he had to do was stand up and find the proper tome. Then it was a matter of reading.

Knowledge may or may not be power, but it certainly made the boy relax. It was an interesting feeling; whether good, bad, or outright horrifying, the fact that he _knew _was so reassuring that the young Russian was all but humming. It felt as if he'd been in some never-ending free-fall, scrambling for a ledge to hold onto, only to be suddenly standing on solid ground.

Ivan was both surprised and totally unfazed by what the files had contained. Including his own prior knowledge of events there was now more than enough material to work with: Ivan's father was a high-ranking member of the Russian Mafia and he had fallen out of favour with the boss. He had raked up debts, tried to sell out the boss to pay them, then was caught and killed. Katyusha, Natalia and Ivan had then become targets by extension due to Russian Mafia law (traitors a_nd their families_ die).

A squad of hitmen had been sent to their home. When the assassination attempt failed, a re-con. squad was sent, and the house was burnt to remove evidence. Ivan had then gone off on his own, and his sisters went to be looked after by Sgt.s Rome and Germania. He hoped.

As for less recent information, there was the fact that his father had married two women. This, the boy had known, but what he had not been aware of was that both were murdered (with the cases having been dismissed...), and that one of which, Natalia's mother, had been the Belarusian Mafia boss's daughter. Natalia's mother had died soon after giving birth. It was possible that they were unaware that the child had survived.

_No wonder he never let Natalia out...it would be bad for him if the Belarusians knew._

More important was the fact that his father had lived long enough after having Natalia's mother killed to be taken out by the Russians. This meant that a.) the Russians had forged some sort of cover-up story to avoid taking blame, and b.) that the Belarusians had yet to avenge the woman's death. There was more than enough information in these files to prove the killing to have been done at the Russian Mafia's command. Not only that, but he had found the number of a Belarusian contact.

It had been hidden...sort of... with numbers written above various letters. Ivan had wondered what the numbers were there for until he realised that the letters they were above spelled out the word 'Belarusians.'

It wasn't the best encryption ever, but certainly convenient.

The boy looked to the sheet in his hands, dusting silvery-blond bangs out of his eyes. The Belarusians, he could use, and he had everything he needed to do it. There had also been mention of something called a 'middleman.' When he'd looked the term up, he'd found that it was a person who arranged political, business, or other deals between groups of people. It was an uninvolved, neutral party. But, from the way that the files had spoken, the middlemen seemed to be their own group, almost like the various Mafia factions ('One of the middlemen was caught up in the dispute and killed. Possibility of foul play.')...he'd have to look more into that.

There was more information, but this was mainly about Ivan and his sisters. They had been... analysed. The report was cold & clinical, written in a mixture of Rome's eerily uniform print, and Germania's smooth, flowing script. The boy had to give them credit for professionalism, psychology was still psychology.

_Net! Ivan! You cannot think of that again! There are more important things. You have to plan. Concentrate: what else is there to use?_

Back-up would be nice. In fact, it would make things terribly simple. Perhaps his co-workers would do...? They were all very large, strong, & intimidating. Several were even under the impression that Ivan worked for the Russian Mafia. More eavesdropping was in order before he could figure out how to arrange for it, but there was no doubt that a number of the men at the docks could be manoeuvred into helping.

Good, good. It was all falling into place.

The boy giggled in satisfaction, earning a few strange looks from a nearby group of students, as he set about collecting his things.

_There should be just enough time to visit the copy shop and make a call..._

Ivan felt suddenly lucky that he made and provided his own funds--all of this calling was getting expensive.

---

The young Russian smiled and hummed to himself softly as he folded a sheet of paper and passed it through the copy store's fax machine.

The call to the Belarusians had gone splendidly. They had been a bit confused as to why Ivan knew how to contact them, but the offer of information on an unsolved death had quickly earned him a number for one of the group's secure fax lines. He was to send the material over, then call back for further negotiation. Simple, simple and just as expected.

Now he was happily folding the case sheets over so that only half would fax.

They didn't think he'd provide information for free, did they?

---

Kirill, the head of the Belarusian information management team stared blankly at the sheets slipping through the fax: they had information alright, but only half of a page.

"Shit."

"What?" His assistant and apprentice, Alex, peered over the other man's shoulder curiously, "...only half?"

"I suppose it would be too much to ask for an informant stupid enough to send all of the information without a reward in hand."

"Always want something?" Alex was good, but clearly still in need of training.

"Yup." both men looked in silence at the fax's printer tray: it appeared that their informant, whoever he was, was sending half of _every sheet_ relevant to their ex-member's unsolved murder, "I guess he wants us to know it's official." as in, that he doesn't have three pages and nothing more.

Alex only shrugged and picked up one of the sheets: there was a partial picture of a woman's body with police data below. The man they'd gone after for revenge years before had been a cover, and this proved it. None of what he was seeing matched the story given by the Russians, "They're good at fabricating things, the Russians are?"

"Yup."

"So, we totally killed the wrong person before?"

"Yup."

"You think this'll prompt the boss to action?"

"Yup."

Alex sighed:_ I wonder if Kirill became this informative because of his job or if he took the job because he was so informative?_

The paper's stopped coming and the non-fax line began to ring.

---

"You got the papers, da?"

"I did. Why only half?"

"Because you haven't completed your end of the deal~"

"...I wasn't aware that we had one."

"Eeee? Should I hang up?"

Prick. There was really no working with people that weren't idiots. They made things so difficult, "...what do you want?"

"Information. I need to know more about the Russians and the Middlemen." Was this guy playing at something? Everyone in the entire freaking underworld knew about the middlemen.

And info 'bout the Russians? They were pretty quick to snap up folks of their nationality, and the speaker's Russian accent was thick enough to cut a cake with.

"You don't know 'bout those topics already? Seems more likely you're interested to see how much the Belarusians know 'bout your group. Bringing the Russians information after you sell them out won't help, you know. Your type are particularly unforgiving."

"Mine?'' the voice on the other end of the line giggled. How old was this person, anyway? The voice was so high in pitch, yet definitely male, "the Russian Mafia is not a thing I have ever been involved with, da. I am from Russia, though, if you are judging by my accent," not part of the Russian group? Then why..."as for being killed for leaking information, the Russians are already trying to kill me, da~"

The Russians are tying to kill him but he's Russian by birth...? Kirill felt his heart skip a few beats: since last evening, the information networks had been buzzing with news of a failed Russian assassination attempt. That never happened. Especially when the targets were a bunch of kids.

There had been three originally, but two had gone missing without a trace, and the third had gone on to beat one of the Russian re-con. agents within an inch of his life and leave him to freeze. It seemed sloppy until you looked closer, and considered that the action stood a very high chance of being deliberate.

If was frightening behaviour for a child, but the prospects were exciting. Even though the current Russian leader was old and worn, his men were still sharp. Yet, they were being outwitted by a twelve-year-old (according to the rumours, at least) brat. A kid like that... he would make a great leader, and people could see it. The better the leader, the more lucrative the crime. If this child were to step out and volunteer, there would be no shortage of professionals willing to follow. Even Kirill was considering it.

"So let's say I send you information..." of course, this was assuming that the boy was as good as rumours said.

"Net. That would not do. A person can say anything. You bring printed files. Make the drop alone and in person. I'll see if you're honest then." a few loopholes, and relying too much on his ability to read an opponent, but not bad for a kid.

"And if I don't come alone?"

"Then I will not pick up the files and you will not get your information." nice in theory, assuming he could spot disguised back-up.

"Where's the drop point?"

"At the docks. 5:47p.m. You will drop them two yards in front of the entrance gate, da?" the docks? The area was a dead-zone as far as telecommunications went, but it would be busy as Hell. Perfect for hiding people in. The boy was screwed.

"I'll be there."

"Uvidimsia!"

The line went dead and Kirill smirked. It was a shame that kid wasn't as good as people said. The Belarusian would take a four man team and wipe the brat out. Maybe sell him out to the Russians in exchange for safe harbour...

---

Ivan smiled, waving happily at Herakles as he entered the docks. It had been ten minutes since the boy had left the library, but somehow, entering the boat yard's gates made time feel fuzzy. It was like the world had returned to normal, and he could just walk home and have a bowl of Katyusha's porridge. It felt nice to be at work again. There was a ship tied & ready for unloading, and everything was going as planned. Just one more thing to prepare before the Belarus made their drop.

---

"Did you hear?" Anton, a burly red-headed dock worker grinned leaning, towards his friend casually. The last time they'd gossiped, he, along with a few other guys, had been caught by one of the Russian Mafia's higher-ups. Luckily, the Mafia member in question, a guy named Ivan, wasn't due in to work for some time.

"How would I know unless you said, dipshit?" Boris, a large, foul-mouthed teddybear of a man replied, tossing a box lazily into the loading crate as he did. He was the bigger of the two, but by far the more gentle.

Anton laughed, "It's a phrase. Shove off."

"So you say." jerkass.

"You want the info or not?" silence was the only hint the ginger needed to know he could continue, "y'know that Braginski guy?"

"The one what got offed a few days back?"

"Same. So, seems he did have kids--"

"Shit."

"Yeah, poor brats."

"The Russians got them too, then?" the large man's eyes shone with something akin to sympathy. He had no family of his own, but always seemed a bit soft for anything cute, little, and/or defenceless.

"Well, that's the thing: these kids ain't takin' their death sentence lying down. There's already been two run-ins, with the brats comin' out on top of both."

"...the fuck?"

"Uh-huh. Actually, seems it's the son who's shaking things up, but it's kind of more impressive like that, yeah? One kid takin' down all these people that're unfairly after him and his." Anton couldn't help but to grin. Sure, he was a member of the Russian Mafia himself, but there was something distinctly badass about a little brat going solo and taking down a bunch of pros to protect his family, "There were two chicks and a guy, and the girls up an' went missing. Not a sound of 'em from anywhere. Russians said they'd pay big for information, too."

"Rewind a sec.' When you said the kids came out on top, you meant, people got killed?"

"Fuck yeah. Four of the five hitmen sent after 'em were fucking smashed to death with some kind of blunt object,"

"Wha--"

"Shudap! I'm explainin'!" Anton sighed. His friend really was impatient, "The fifth member of the hitman group is still living, but barely. He almost drowned, and was burnt so bad that he's needin' skin grafts done for everythin' 'bove his shoulders."

"...do I want to know?" Simultaneous burns and drowning? Scalding water or something? Shit...

"I'd tell you, but can't say as I know myself."

Good thing because Boris really didn't care for the details, "An' the second time?"

"One of the re-con. agents. Got his legs smashed to pieces and near died from freezin' to death. No one knows what the brat's up to, but people are sayin' the agent was let to live on purpose."

"Why?"

"Eh, cover-up types are usually real high up. Since the agent's got back, there's been looks of him questionin' the boss. Not that he can move from a hospital bed to do nothin' like start a rebellion. It's just the general point that matters: drive a stake in at the right place and the whole mountainside comes crashin' down. Mess up the right people in an organisation like ours and it'll fall apart, too."

"You sayin' then that Braginski's boy is tryin' to take the group over for himself?" Boris wasn't as surprised as the red-head might have expected, but he was sure as heck taking it as seriously as he ought to.

"That's the running guess. Never met the boss myself, but if he's being duped by a kid, it doesn't look good. People are talking. And it's not only within our group."

"...I could see that."

"Everyone that's met this kid says he has real a presence--that he can change the whole feel of a place just by lettin' people know he's in it. Puts the current boss's to shame, that does. He's good at findin' where to drive them mind-game stakes in, too. If he's aiming for what it looks like, the Russians ain't gon'na be the only ones happy to follow."

"Hah! I might be with that. The way things are right now--"

The two men stopped and stared, blood draining from their faces as they caught the sound of a soft giggle.

"Greetings, comrades~"

_Shit._

---

The silvery-blond Russian smiled, large purple eyes bright and twinkling. It looked like Christmas had come early and he'd been offered a 500% pay raise to boot. Would arranging whatever punishment they were about to receive really make him that happy?

"Uhm, look, we can explain. We should have learnt our lesson last time, but it's just--"

"Net, net. You're interested in my cause, da?"

"In your..?" Wait, what?!

"Listen, Ivan, we know that you're involved and all, but--"

"Ah, no, I wasn't. I'm afraid I was not being entirely honest when we last spoke." both men ceased to speak in favour of gawking. They seemed to have entered some bizarre realm comprised solely of confusion, "I'm sorry for it, but I overheard your conversation and couldn't help but to feel that the man you described resembled my father. I don't care for him, but his situation affects my sisters, da~"

Still no response. The man, no, Ivan was a boy then, wasn't he? The boy from the rumours? "My full name is Ivan Braginski, da~ I have interest in what you implied that I might, and it would be very useful to me if you would help me with a small task."

Nothing. Silence.

The boy laughed.

_Fuck._

"You...are...the boy the rumours have been about." Anton's words were slow and carefully spaced. It was all a bit difficult to swallow. Ivan certainly had the presence enough for his words to be true--they'd thought he was in deep when he was really just a babe batting at toys above his cradle. Ah, assuming he were the Braginski boy.

"Da."

"Look, Ivan, that person, he's a kid." Boris interjected, his nervousness defensively turning to irritation.

The boy hummed, "Do I sound like an adult?" thinking about it, he didn't. He was adult-sized, but not nearly as tall or broad as some of their co-workers.

"Not particularly."

"That's because I am not one. I will be big when I am though, da?" Ivan tilted his head to the side and laughed some more.

Well, if he were as big as an adult at, what was he supposed to be, twelve? Yeah. If he were this big at twelve, then...

"You're underaged to work here." Boris continued, still irritated, though starting to calm.

"Da. I recall you saying that you had met my father? He does not seem the type of person to put aside money for his family, da?" no, he really didn't.

Damn but that guy had been a bastard.

"So, what do you want from us?"

"Ah! Just what you had thought~" what they had thought? "you seemed interested in working with me, da?"

The men looked from one to the next. They'd sure as fuck been duped by the brat before he even got into this. He'd taken out two sets of pros, and, well, why the heck not? The early bird gets the worm, and the first members of new groups earned the most cash.

"We're in."

"Ah! Good. There will be members from the Belarus Mafia here shortly. That is why I am here for my shift ahead of schedule."

"Wait, what? Why?" Anton's eyes almost fell out of his head as he tried follow what was happening.

"Hmmn, I asked the head of their intelligence section to trade information with me. I said to come alone, but that would be idiotic." Boris and Anton almost laughed. Yes, Ivan would be a good boss.

"And you want us to...?"

"There are no new workers here today, da? I checked with Herakles. I want for you to take care of anyone that doesn't look familiar. Keep them unconscious and restrained, but relatively unharmed. If you could get the help of others, that would be good. I'm expecting four or five Belarusians in addition to my contact. There is a location I wish for you to take the opposition to once they have been detained, da?" the boy paused, looking suddenly young and sheepish, "Could it be done?"

The men laughed. Easy. The docks were crawling with Mafia and freelancers. They wouldn't be the only ones keen to hop a new, doubtlessly profitable ship. As for dragging unconscious people somewhere--they all moved heavy shit for a living, did they not?

"Yes'ir. Just name the place and consider it done."

"Spaseebo, comrades!" Ivan beamed, "ah, and there's one more thing..."

Ivan almost blushed at the way his co-workers--no, were they his subordinates now? Hmn, then the way that his new subordinates looked so eager to be a part of his plan. It wasn't an act, either.

He could tell.

_Eee, I have subordinates! And they're adults! This is scary, da~ _

But their information was good, and the meeting with the Belarus would now go much, much more smoothly.

---

Kirill walked into the docks at 5:45 on the dot. This was going to be one of his easiest captures to date.

_Two meters from the front gate, eh?_

That was near the start of the meal line. Supper would be starting soon, and it'd be hard to see if anyone grabbed the documents.

Not bad.

Still, he had a four man team, including his assistant, all currently in place. They'd trickled in a few minutes ahead of time to avoid detection. Even if he was good for a kid, the Braginski brat was still severely out-classed.

Casually dropping the printed files into place, Kirill slipped into the crowd, busying himself as if he came and worked here every day.

_And now, I wait._

The Belarusian could barely suppress his grin.

---

7:45. Seven-fucking-forty-five. Kirill had been waiting for three damnable hours. The meal had come and gone, the line had led plenty of people in front of where the files had sat, and no one had so much as touched them.

Maybe the brat had somehow spotted Kirill's support? No, that wasn't likely. There were too many other people around. If only these stupid docks weren't a dead-zone... it'd be so easy to just pick up the phone and call.

The workers were starting to file out for the night, and Kirill, sighing heavily, snatched up the file and joined them. The evening had been a waste.

Snow was falling, and the moon was in the sky. The shops stood neatly in a line, closed signs dangling from various parts of doors and windows. Aside from the dock workers, the place was dead.

It was damned typical and dull. He'd have to rant at Alex about it when they got back. Boring, boring, boring life. Nothing ever changed.

Kirill shoved his hands deep into his pockets, feeling the folder under his coat push up against his body. It was cold from having sat outside for so long, and the frigid night air didn't make things much better. Winter never stopped in this place. It was alway---

---

His head hurt. A lot. As did his lungs, and back, and, well, everything. Yeah, he'd put it like that: his everything hurt.

Kirill tried to sit up, only to find that he was already upright--just dizzy to the point of feeling as if he might be lying down.

He was also tied up.

"Ee? Are you awake already?" Kirill opened his eyes to be met with those of another: they were large, owlish--almost fitting of a child, and a deep, spectacular shade of purple.

_Purple... isn't that...?_

The Belarusian didn't know quite what to say, so he went with his standard reply: "Yup."

"Ah! Wonderful! Waiting for you was getting boring, da!" the speaker giggled, pulling back and clapping his hands enthusiastically. A boy. Young. Definitely large enough to be a man, but his voice, and those eyes...rumours of the Braginski kid had spoken of purple eyes. It was an unnatural colour, so Kirill had dismissed that part as being nonsense--something to make the child seem more unnatural, but there he was and there they were: a cute Russian kid with honest to goodness purple eyes.

Huh. Go figure, "Braginski, I take it?"

"Da." the boy nodded, lacing his fingers together. They were in some type of alleyway--from the smell of things, one with a dumpster in it. At least seven adult men, all workers Kirilll recognised from the docks, stood eagerly around the space's permitter.

_So he had back-up, too... _

"You told me to come alone. I did. What gives?"

"It's bad to lie." the childish gleam was chased from Braginski's eyes in the space of a single blink, as what appeared to be a long metal faucet pipe slipped from beneath the young Russian's coat.

"What makes you think I'm not telling the truth?" the pipe made contact with Kirill's stomach hard enough to force him to the ground, yet gentle enough to avoid breaking bones. It was as if the man were being chastised for his dishonesty.

Still, 'gentle enough to avoid breaking bones' didn't mean much--the blow had hurt like Hell. Kirill winced, allowing his head to loll over backwards. What he saw there made every muscle in his body jump then freeze: around the base of the dumpster lay his entire team. They were tied up, unconscious and beaten. None of them looked to be in bad shape, but the fact remained that they were all out cold.

_...this is..._

Up until that moment, Kirill had never been out-manoeuvred. Not once. But here, this boy had...?

It was something different. Something Kirill hadn't been able to predict, "Damn, but you are good."

"Ain't 'e?" it was one of the dock workers. A towering man the Belarusian seemed to remember being called Boris. Not only was the kid good at what he did, but he was also someone people liked to follow.

_'Makes sense. It's easy enough to group 'round a leader you can take pride in. _

Besides, working a mission planned as well as this was any professional's dream.

There was only one remaining test... "I take it you've gotten your information?"

"Da. I also got rid of your tracking device." Braginski smiled as he spoke, seeming for all the world like a little creepy-as-fuck ray of sunshine.

_Passed with flying colours and room to spare... _

The kid was definitely, definitely good:time to arrange for the transfer.

"Y'know, I'll come strait with ya': the Belarus group is on its way out. I ain't going down with it. Me and mine've been scouting for someplace else to work. We heard the rumours 'bout you, which had me curious, but then your plan ended up sounding like shit," he let out a raspy laugh, finding it harder to speak than he'd imagined, "I thought you bought the whole 'I'm coming alone'-bit. There were a few other problems, too. It was disappointing, but, I figured that if I got you, then I could at least get on the good side of the Russians. Hate to sound like a shit, but, you should know what happens when you're not of any use. If I don't make it, neither do my men." it was the truth and nothing but: any weakened Mafia would have its members hunted into extinction. The only way out was to jump ship before the group fell. Hopefully the kid could see that.

"Da. It's the only reason you're not covered in blood," well, shit...to be able to say something like that whilst playfully tapping a weapon/pipe into one's hand--Kirill couldn't wait until he was on Braginski's side. At the moment, it was deeply disconcerting, but the Belarusian knew he'd be grinning like the Cheshire Cat if he were one of the guys watching the boy work from the sidelines, "Your methods bother me, but you care about your men, da?"

"Wouldn'a risked punishment from my current boss if I didn't. So, you gon'na let us in?"

"Net. Not without proof of loyalty." Caution is good. Kirill could appreciate that.

"Anything short of hurting myself or my men, and it's yours."

Braginski laughed, "We wouldn't have gone to such trouble to keep you in good condition if we planned to hurt you, da~!"

Good...condition...? Actually, thinking about it, if Kirill weren't tied up, he could probably move just fine. It would hurt, especially given the recent run-in with Braginski's faucet pipe (weirdest damn weapon...), but that aside---

_He's kept us in working condition._

_Holy shit._

"Your main goal was never the information." the dawning realisation made Kirill reel like a blow with a faucet pipe never could.

The silver-blond began to clap, congratulating the man for having noticed, "Da~"

"You acted like you wanted to exchange information with some sloppy plan to draw me and my team out..." Ivan giggled as the Belarusian's words washed into momentary silence, his mind clicking facts into place, "...because you wanted us to make use of us."

"Da. And you will be useful."

"...so, what if I'm having second thoughts?" he wasn't--the question was all about testing.

"If you are? Hmn... perhaps I could point out all of the flaws in the Russian's cover-up plan?" ...what? "When they killed your boss's daughter. There were very many signs that gave away the culprits. Your boss would surely punish the neglectful person he had trusted with the duty of solving the matter, da?"

Oh, shit.

He had never thought of that: even if the Belarusians became the most powerful Mafia presence in the world overnight, Kirill and his men were still in the shit house. He had been in charge of avenging the boss's daughter and had been duped. If this brat made it seem like the real perp.s had been obvious and had only gotten away for so long due to negligence, the information specialists would be marked for death.

"Ah. I see." meaning, 'show of loyalty' or no, the Belarusian had no option other than to do as told.

"It is simple, is it not? And if you do not wish to agree even then," all cheer drained young Russian's countenance as he swung the metal faucet pipe above his shoulder, resting it there lightly, "it would not be the first time that I have had to kill, da?" the smile was back on his face, identical in appearance to when he had been in a legitimate state of delight.

_Well, this kid's clearly insane--fucking brilliant, but..._

The man looked around. He didn't wanted to escape so much as take in the lay of the land:

the location would make killing and disposing of the Belarusians quick, clean work. When it came to scheming, Kirill had to admit that the twelve-year-old Russian brat had him beat, "M'kay. Then your loyalty test--name it."

"Bring this--" Braginski took a file from beneath his coat (was that thing an infinite vortex or something? First the faucet pipe, now the folders, next...?), and dropped it near Kirill's location on the ground, "-proof of the Belarusian woman's murder to your boss and arrange to have as much of your force as possible attack the Russian base tomorrow night."

"Tomorrow?"

"Da. Can it not be done?"

"No, it can, but is there a reason--" the boy held one finger to his lips, large indigo eyes dancing in delight, mouth set in a innocent little smile. He wanted silence.

"You do not get to know, da? Arrange for it to happen, then report back once the attack starts."

"Braginski, Sir, we'll get on it as soon as you have us untied."

The boy laughed:

It was good to have some more friends~

-----

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**Author's Notes: **Muahaha! 0__o; M'kay. Well, once chapter remaining until the timeskip! __; Are you all as excited as I am? XD; *can't wait* Guuh! It's so annoying to write it, but I promised myself that I would stick to the original plan. =___=;;;

Also, a lot of elements are going to start toppling together now. Our little Ivan's been doing things from day one, both naturally and on purpose, that've been shaking up the people around him. Thus the little re-cap in the case files. ^__^; *laughs*

Next chapter is the grand finale of Ivan's story (pre-timeskip). *claps* About it, I shall say only this: Ivan's been getting better at ebvil plotting as time goes by. :3

Look forward to it. XD


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